Only those worth breaking
by Josje
Summary: The story of a young Sarmatian boy who comes to Britain where he will fight together with other Sarmatian knights in a fort at Hadrian’s Wall. Lots of Tristan. Nonslash. A story about friendship, loyalty and a strong urge to be free.
1. Boys arrive from main land

**01 Boys arrive from main land**

His eyes wandered across the group of boys that had just arrived from the main land.

Sarmatians.

Descendants of the most fearsomly skilled warriors that had ever fought for Rome. Young they were, most of them between 14 and 17 years of age. However, each of these boys had been trained to fight since early childhood. They would be a valuable addition to the Roman force in Britain.

"Junius!"

A Roman officer came walking his way. "What do you think?" he asked sceptically.

The older man raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any reason to question Sarmatian skill?" he replied.

The Roman officer shook his head. "No. But did you not notice the little ones in this group?"

Junius scanned the group more carefully. There, now he noticed. Behind and between the older boys, there were several younger ones. Perhaps twelve or thirteen summers old, not more. He gritted his teeth.

"They're too young!" he hissed. "The enemy will kill them before the year is over!"

The Roman officer nodded. "Apparently, disease played havoc among the Sarmatian population. Many tribes were not able to provide enough boys. So the Roman cavalry sent to collect them decided on taking a few younger ones as well."

"They weren't thinking!" Junius spat. "What use will these boys be to us? All we can do in the first years of their service is feeding and training them! They'll have to grow and gain strength before they'll be able to hold their own in battle!"

"Exactly," the officer agreed. "Feeding and training these boys is something their families in Sarmatia could have done. Now we have them here."

* * *

It was an early morning, several days after the boys had arrived in Britain. Junius felt uncomfortable in his saddle. He was probably getting too old for this. His glory years as an officer in the Roman military were far behind him. Unwilling to leave his army life behind, he had chosen to prolong his service and had become a trainer and guard to the never ceasing flow of recruits. But recently, even this was beginning to wear him out. More than he cared to admit.

He studied the soldiers riding ahead of him. Each of them was heavily armed and keeping a close eye on the Sarmatian boys they were guarding. The boys had been stripped of their weapons, although a carriage did bring their weapons along.

"Always allow a man to fight with his own weapons."

It was a lesson his own mentor had once attempted to drill into his mind. Junius had fought it, had attempted to teach Gauls, Macedonians and Sarmatians alike to fight Roman style. Not until after failing again and again had he seen how much his mentor was right. He had seen the value of men wielding their own, trusted weapons.

And now he, Junius, was the one drilling this knowledge into the minds of the Roman officers and commanders who led Sarmatian warriors into battle in Britain.

Tumult from the front of the caravan shook him out of his reverie. Three soldiers yanked a boy from his horse a little away from the caravan and started whipping him mercilessly. The boy's screams rang through the forest while the soldiers yelled at him for daring to attempt to ride away. The boy barely understood Latin, if at all, but the message was driven home nonetheless.

When the boy was seated on his horse again, tied between two Roman cavalrymen, the caravan continued its journey North.

* * *

Three days later they were camping near the outskirts of a forest. Junius watched the boys as they were forced to set up their tents and as they prepared their meals for the evening. There had been a lot of trouble with the Sarmatian boys during their journey, but it was gradually getting less. His eyes lingered on the youngest boy of the group. He was one of the little ones he had first seen in Dubris _(Dover)_. Of the seven little ones in total, he was the only one taken to the North. The others had been sent off with a caravan taking boys to the forts in the West.

He was a silent one, this boy. He didn't make much trouble. He quietly followed the orders given to him by the Roman soldiers and so far he had not rebelled. One could almost believe he had accepted his fate, quite contrary to the main attitude of the other boys. But Junius knew better. You had to take a closer look at the boy's deep brown eyes. His eyes were alive. He was very watchful, and from the way the boy attentively observed his surroundings, Junius could tell he was probably quite intelligent. He had seen vivid flashes of livid anger in the eyes of the young boy whenever one of his Sarmatian brothers was taunted or beaten. As a matter of fact, Junius was nearly convinced the boy could understand Latin. There was something in the way the boy looked at the Roman soldiers at times, which made Junius believe he knew exactly what his guards were saying to each other.

Junius leant back, let his head fall slightly forward and closed his eyes. This boy reminded him strongly of one other Sarmatian boy he had once taken to the Wall.


	2. Balan introduced to Tristan

**02 Balan introduced to Tristan**

"Tristan!"

Gawain's voice grew more impatient. The scout huffed and put his legs on the table.

"Ye've been 'ere six years now, boy. Ye knew you had this cummin'!" Bors chuckled. "Come with us now, ye bloody grump!"

Gaheris grinned. "May all the Gods have mercy on the boy who will have to live with Tristan."

With a thud, Tristan's bootknife embedded itself in the door frame just above Gaheris' head.

"Easy now!" the large, red-haired knight spat. "Now listen, if you want to keep Ruccius waiting, suit yourself!"

Gaheris stalked out of the tavern, followed by Gawain, leaving only Bors and Tristan. With an amused twinkle in his eyes Bors looked at Tristan, who rose to his feet with a glare and followed the others outside.

* * *

The caravan with the boys had already entered through the gates. Or what was left of the caravan anyway. Most of the boys had been safely delivered to their new posts in the forts along Hadrian's Wall. Of the twenty boys that had left Dubris several weeks ago, only three boys were left.

Ruccius, the Roman commander of the fort, stood in the center of the square and spoke with Junius.

"Gawain!" he ordered.

Gawain stepped forward.

"You take that one!"

Ruccius pointed to a young boy with curly hair, who had shyly wrapped his arms around himself.

"Gaheris!"

Ruccius now pointed to a tall boy with blond hair and freckles.

"That one!"

Tristan groaned. Gaheris beckoned the blond boy to follow him.

"Tristan!"

Tristan briefly nodded when Ruccius pointed to the last of the three boys. He slowly and deliberately clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared at the boy he would have to train and guide for the next four years.

* * *

He had known, of course, that this day would come. Every Sarmatian boy who came to the Wall was mainly trained by one of his older Sarmatian brothers, by a knight who had been in service to Rome for a minimum of 4 years. Last year and the year before that, Tristan had escaped this fate of having to take charge of a younger boy. But last week he had been informed of the arrival of three new boys. And of his new order to be one of these boys' sparring partner and trainer from now on.

His mood had become fouler with every day that had passed since and he knew he had been letting his temper out on the others. But when his eyes wandered to the last one of the three boys, he knew his mood would be even fouler for a long time to come.

* * *

Tristan watched from a chair by the fire place.

"What's your name, boy?"

The boy's eyes briefly shot in his direction, before he returned his gaze to the tear in his kit bag which he was trying to fix. He hadn't spoken a word yet since he had arrived at the fort that afternoon, but Tristan didn't mind.

"Balan", came a soft answer.

Tristan swore under his breath. The boy's voice hadn't broken yet. His high, clear voice once again made it perfectly clear that this boy was no more than a child.

Without a word, he walked out of his room and headed straight for the tavern.

* * *

"Tristan!"

Dagonet's friendly voice called him over to a table in the corner. Bors shoved a mug of ale in his hand, which he downed at once.

Brumear patted his back. "I feel for you brother," he said with a smile. "Only six more months and my duties as trainer will end. That stubborn piece of rebellion named Agloval will finally be on his own." He chuckled into his mug. "It will be up to the Romans to tame him then."

Tristan refilled his mug.

"I swear I have whipped that boy more often than I have slashed my sword across woads and other enemies!" Brumear continued.

"That's not quite surprising, is it?" came an amused voice from behind them. "When have you ever slashed your sword across woads or other enemies, Bru? You and Bors do all the roaring, and the rest of us do the hard work!"

With a smile, Lancelot joined them at the table.

"There ain't nothing like a good battle cry!" Bors retorted. "Rúúúúús!!!"

Tristan stood up and sat down next to Dagonet.

"How has he been today?" the large knight asked.

Tristan shrugged. "Does as he's told."

Dagonet nodded. He knew how much Tristan hated his new task, so he decided to ask no further questions.

Nothing was going to change the situation, however. Dagonet knew this as well as everyone else. Tristan would have to find a way to live with it. But Dagonet wondered what on earth had made Ruccius decide to put Tristan in charge of such a little boy. Tristan!

He saw how Lancelot took a careful glance in Tristan's direction. The cocky knight was probably dying to tease the scout with his new baby boy charge. But a look at the scout's dark expression apparently made him think better of it. Good!

* * *

When Tristan entered his room much later that night, he found the boy asleep on the narrow bed that had been placed in his room a few days ago.

The boy had neatly stored away his few belongings and the kit bag was lying on the foot of his bed, now fixed.

He briefly admired the boy's handwork. Then he sighed, took off his clothes and went to sleep.


	3. First weeks

**03 Balan's first weeks**

Balan opened his eyes. He had only been here for a week, but he already disliked the place with passion.

"Get up, boy!" Tristan urged.

Balan sighed and pushed his covers aside. As much as he wanted to hate the older knight, he couldn't fail but notice the incredible skill that Tristan possessed. And not only with his sword, but with his bow and his knives as well. Tristan was certainly a good knight to learn from.

He dressed, put on his boots and grasped the wooden sword he had been given to practise with. Not that he had used it yet. Tristan made him do all kinds of chores, mainly cleaning and carrying weapons, while Tristan himself sparred with the other knights. At home his father had taught him to fight with a real sword. But here, no-one seemed interested in teaching him how to wield a sword. Not even one made of wood! Tristan wouldn't let him fight yet.

For now, Balan didn't mind if he wasn't sent into battle. He knew full well that his chances to survive in battle were very small. But before he had left Sarmatia, his father had impressed on him to make sure to learn as much as he could. To pay attention when being taught, to work hard and try his very best.

He wondered if Tristan would begin teaching him soon.

* * *

After their early breakfast the knights gathered in the practice yard.

"Balan!"

Galahad, the curly haired boy who had arrived in the fort with him, waved from a distance. A long-haired knight Balan remembered was called Gawain was chiding him for not paying enough attention to his foot work.

"Galahad!" Gawain spat.

Balan watched as Galahad focused on his sword fighting again.

Behind him Bors chuckled. "Oi lad, gimme my gauntlet, will ya?" he called.

Balan rushed to do as he had been told. He had not been able to decide what to think of Bors yet. He had every reason to be very wary of Bors' large hands, as Bors had no problem boxing his ears several times a day, even for no reason at all. But there was also something very good-natured and friendly about the broad knight. And it was friendliness Balan was longing for. Tristan showed no sign of kindness, not even interest, in the young boy at all, which made Balan feel lonely.

"Boy!"

Tristan's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Run up to the armoury and ask Ellis for more arrows."

Balan looked up at the dark knight. But Tristan was already walking away again.

Just once, he wished Tristan would address him with a little more than indifference. He let out a small sigh. Tristan didn't seem to like him at all. One more glance at the sparring scout told him that Tristan had already forgotten that he existed. He turned and left the practice yard.

* * *

Dawn was still far away when Tristan suddenly woke up. He listened carefully for a moment. He couldn't hear the boy's breathing, but he had heard a sound coming from the narrow bed on the other side of his room. After listening intently for a few more minutes, he realized that the boy was lying underneath his blankets and was trying to conceal his sobs.

He stared blankly at the ceiling. How old was this boy? Eleven summers? The child probably missed his mother.

He had to admit that he approved of the boy's silent resilience. He had seen frustration flare up in the boy's eyes each time he had refused to let the boy fight. But each time the frustration had soon been replaced by a quiet determination, giving the boy an almost serene appearance. He had done every task Tristan had given him without complaining. Not once had the boy challenged him so far.

Gawain and Gaheris were having quite some trouble with their charges already. Galahad simply seemed too angry about his conscription to Rome to be either willing or able to pay much attention to his training. And Pelleas, the tall boy who had been appointed to Gaheris, was a stubborn rebel who refused to do anything Gaheris told him to do.

He listened to the quiet sobs of the boy. He would need to begin the boy's training soon. He would have to find out what skills the boy possessed and make sure that he improved them. After that he could see what other things to teach him.

* * *

"Balan, come with us!"

Pelleas, Galahad and a tall boy he had not seen before, pushed him into a corner of the stables.

The tall boy introduced himself as Agloval and studied Balan's face with interest. "He's quite a young one," Agloval laughed.

"That's not his fault," Pelleas retorted. "Let's make him a man!"

Agloval snorted.

"How about you then? Are you a man yet?"

Pelleas glared at him, but didn't say anything.

"How old are you?" Agloval demanded.

"Fifteen," Galahad replied.

"Sixteen," Pelleas said with a hint of pride.

"And you?" Agloval demanded of Balan.

"Eleven," Balan stated. "But I will be twelve before the Summer is over."

"Good!" Agloval laughed. "Any of you seen a woman before?"

"I have three sisters!" Galahad exclaimed. "Of course I have!"

"He means a naked woman," Pelleas interrupted patronizingly.

Galahad instantly looked up at Agloval, eyes widening.

Agloval beamed and looked down at the three younger boys, asking a question without speaking. The boys nodded.

"Tomorrow night after supper, come to the stables. Do not tell anyone and make sure nobody sees you. We'll sneak out of the fort and then I'll show you something!"


	4. Caught

**04 Caught**

_**Warning: This chapter contains physical violence. If you do not like this, do not read on.**_

"Tristan! They're here!"

Tristan dismounted his horse and walked back towards the gates.

He had only just returned from a scouting trip when he was told that the three new boys were missing from the fort.

Ruccius had bellowed furiously at the guards at the gates for letting the boys walk out, and even more at the boys' trainers for not paying enough attention. He had not yelled at Tristan, of course, as he had not been there. But Gawain, who had been ordered to keep an eye on both Galahad and Balan, had received the full force of Ruccius' wrath.

A search party was sent out, led by a Roman officer named Artorius Castus.

When Tristan had returned from scouting that evening, the search party had already been away for quite some time. Ruccius had ordered him to grab some food and water and to join the search party instantly. He had been about to ride out again, when Lancelot alerted him the boys had been returned to the fort.

Ruccius returned to his quarters. He left it to Arthur Castus, who was to become commander of the Sarmatian knights in a few months, to deal with the young boys.

* * *

The three boys stood quietly in front of Arthur, nervously awaiting his wrath.

"Where have you been?" Arthur asked sternly.

None of the boys said a word. Galahad looked down at his toes. Pelleas looked to the side, avoiding the many eyes staring at him. Balan looked intently at Arthur, as if trying to read from Arthur's mind what would be awaiting them.

"We found you in the forest, not far from the nearest village. What were you doing there?" Arthur demanded.

Galahad moved his feet, but still none of the boys said a thing. Pelleas shook his hair out of his face. Balan just stood there, quietly facing Arthur.

"Answer me!" Arthur bellowed, hoping to scare the answer out of them.

Galahad bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak.

"Well…"

"We did nothing!" Pelleas cut through him, kicking Galahad's left leg hard.

Arthur glared at him.

"You know you are not to leave the fort without permission! You have been well-informed that the punishment for breaking this rule is a whipping. What did you risk this for?"

Tristan watched with amusement as Pelleas obviously racked his mind for an answer. Galahad seemed to become more nervous every minute. Balan, however, hid his emotion quite well. He silently observed the situation he found himself in and paid attention to the reactions of its players. Only a little flicker in his eyes betrayed that he was, in fact, scared.

"We were going to ….. " Galahad began.

"Shut up, you fool!" Pelleas interrupted. "We went for a walk," he added innocently, shooting Galahad a warning glare.

Arthur wasn't going to waste his time on this.

"Enough!" he barked.

"Gaheris, Gawain, Tristan, take these boys with you to your rooms and give them a whipping. Do not be kind!"

He turned to the boys.

"Do not let this happen again!"

* * *

Tristan watched as the young boy stood in front of him trying not to flinch. He could easily tell the boy was nervous. When they had entered the room, he had tried to read from Tristan's face how serious his whipping was going to be, but Tristan had kept his face stoic.

"Take off your shirt, boy."

After the boy had removed his shirt, Tristan took off his belt. The boy tried hard not to swallow. Tristan noticed that he was trembling, though.

"Kneel."

He saw a flicker of fear in the boys eyes. Then, all of the sudden, a complete change seemed to wash over the boy's face. Quietly but resolutely, the small boy knelt down in front him.

A little bemused, Tristan took his belt in his other hand.

At the first crack of leather across his bare back, the boy flinched and choked back a scream.

At the second one, he was panting loudly and Tristan could tell he was fighting back his tears.

At the third one, he hissed and he clenched his fists.

But at the fourth lash, the boy remained quiet and did not move.

Tristan frowned.

The boy remained stoic and still for several more lashes, until finally the pain of the whipping cut through to him again. He winced and his body shook with every new stroke that landed on his back.

After the last lash the boy got up, lay down on his bed and hid his face under his covers. Not once did he look up at Tristan.

Tristan decided to let him be.

He put his belt aside and left the room to ask Dagonet for some ointment. When he returned, he carefully applied the salve to the boy's ravaged and swollen back, causing the boy to hiss in pain once more.

Then he lay down on his own bed and tried to get some sleep. He had whipped the boy hard, he was aware of that. But Balan knew the punishment for going out without permission, and Tristan felt that he deserved it.

* * *

AN: Many thanks to my beta, Priestess of the Myrmidon!


	5. A new life

**05 A new life**

_**Warning: Physical violence in this chapter. If you do not like this, do not read on!**_

Weeks passed and Tristan had begun the boy's training. He was pleased to see that the boy had plenty of skill with the sword already. Ruccius had forbidden the new boys the use of real weapons for now, but Tristan was certain the boy would do well with a real sword, despite the weight difference. The boy was eager to learn and carefully paid attention to everything Tristan said. He worked hard and did not complain, even if Tristan pushed him to the point of exhaustion. The boy learned fast.

Junius had been right after all about the boy being able to understand Latin. His father had taught him ever since he was a small lad. The boy also knew some of the Greek language and Tristan had seen him trying to pick up some new words from the language of the local people.

While the other boys learned Latin from an old Roman teacher, Balan spent his time doing chores for Tristan and the other knights. He also met a special person he soon loved spending his free time with: Vanora. Bors' lover enjoyed the company of the young lad, who was about five years older than her own eldest son. Balan gladly volunteered to do chores for Vanora, which was often rewarded with an extra snack or a treat from Vanora's storage rooms, one of the perks of Vanora's job in the tavern. One morning Balan felt so confident that he hesitantly asked Vanora to teach him how to cook.

At this, Bors boxed his ears and blamed him for trying to take his woman away from him. But Balan explained that in Sarmatia his mother had taught him how to cook meals. His father had told him that a man was blessed if he was able to prepare a good meal for himself when away from his home and his woman.

"Nothing beats exhaustion and loneliness better than a good meal," Balan repeated his father's words. "But I still have to learn how to prepare food that grows in Britain."

Bors thought of the dried meat and hard bread he often had to make due with while away from the fort and he could only agree with the boy's ideas, thinking that if the boy could learn to make good food, then he'd encourage him. "Ye learn how to cook then lad," he chuckled. "An' if it tastes any good, I'll be there to help ye eat it, all right?"

* * *

The older Sarmatian boys soon accepted the three new ones in their midst. In the evenings Pelleas, Balan and Galahad often joined the older boys, who generally sat around a small fire basket away from the older knights. These gatherings usually meant a lot of betting and gambling, outrageous boasting about fighting skills, and comparison of welts and bruises after beatings from their sparring partners.

Balan observed their new companions quietly from the background. Galahad mainly nodded or shook his head to show that he agreed with the others. But Pelleas soon fell flat on his face while attempting to make an impression. The older boys challenged him to show his sword fighting skills to prove he was as good as he claimed. But to the older boys' great hilarity, all Pelleas was able to produce was his wooden practice sword, which broke into pieces after one strike from a 19-year-old Alani boy named Lanolan.

* * *

A few weeks after their 'mission' to the village, Pelleas, Galahad and Balan decided on a second attempt to sneak out and 'become men'. This time they went without Agloval, as he had left them on their own in the forest as soon as Arthur and his men had showed up a month earlier. In order to reduce the chance of being noticed, the boys slipped through the gates one by one.

It had almost worked, but Tristan caught Balan when he was just about to disappear into the forest. He dragged the boy back to the fort and into his room, and pushed him face down onto the bed.

"Take off your boots!"

The boy had screamed while Tristan had whipped the soles of his feet. He had not been able to walk for a good part of the next two days.

Tristan felt a subtle twinge of regret for this. At least it seemed to have taken the boy's mind off trying to walk away from the fort for a while.

* * *

During the day, the young boy seemed lively enough. He did his chores, obeyed Tristan's orders, worked hard in the practice yard and occasionally fought with the other boys. At night, however, Tristan often heard him cry underneath his blankets and the boy was having fitful dreams.

One night Tristan returned to his room after a scouting trip and found the boy desperately sobbing into his arms, his face wet with tears. Balan instantly turned his face away from Tristan and choked his sobs into his bed covers, but there had been enough time for Tristan to see the boy's grief and distress.

Tristan quietly took off his cloak and calmly put his weapons away. He sat down on the edge of the boy's bed and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. He pressed down lightly and stroked the boy's hair, before he silently returned to his own bed and continued taking off his boots and his clothes. The sobs became quiet and for a while it seemed like the boy would calm down. But then the boy coughed violently and his sobbing continued.

Tristan lay awake for a long time, while Balan tried to hide his tears under his blankets once more. It was a few hours before dawn when Tristan finally heard a sigh coming from the boy's side of the room. Slowly, the sobbing subsided.

* * *


	6. Taunts

**06 Taunts**

Word had spread fast about the Sarmatian child now training with the knights. Within a few weeks Balan had become the locals' main source of entertainment, as well as the target of their taunts. Men frequently pushed him to the ground when he passed by and women laughed sarcastically, asking if this measly little boy would be protecting them from now on.

"Are you a knight, boy?" they jeered.

The smithy's wife came running his way, insisting she had seen a Woad around the corner. "Save me! Save me!" she screamed. She wrapped her arms around the embarrassed boy, raising one foot off the ground as if to make him lift her up. The villagers burst out in laughter and chased the boy away from the market place.

At first the knights had been amused about these games. But it got worse.

The women locked him up in cellars and storage rooms whenever they got a chance. The men in the fort often kicked him, claiming they didn't like the look on Balan's face. Balan, knowing full well that he was not allowed to use any violence whatsoever against the people living in the fort, wasn't able to do anything about it other than staying out of their way.

Eventually Bors decided to stand up for him. He had a shouting match with an infuriatingly arrogant woman, which didn't end until Vanora stepped in between. Dagonet, Gawain and Brumear soon followed Bors's example and even Lancelot stuck up for the boy once, freeing him from three women who tried to force him head first into a bucket filled with oil.

The only results of the knights' actions were sneers from the women and laughter from the men about the Sarmatian knights and their baby warrior. "Don't Sarmatian women breed strong and sturdy knights anymore?" they taunted.

It wasn't until Arthur intervened that the physical assaults on the boy stopped. In its stead, the villagers' taunts got all the more poisonous, driving the young boy to tears without mercy.

Balan couldn't understand what he'd done wrong.

* * *

On a sunny day Arthur took the knights to the fields to practise riding in formation.

All of the knights and Arthur watched in wonder when they saw Balan ride. The boy was a natural with horses! He was a very good rider and showed incredible skill. He worked intensively with the new Gallian horse which the groom had given him, winning the animal's trust within the hour. It was amazing to see what the boy managed to make the horse do. Even Tristan barely concealed his appreciation.

Galloping across the field with the other knights, Balan suddenly felt a surge of happiness flow through him. The cold wind blew forcefully into his face and through his hair and for the first time since coming to Britain, Balan felt free. He grabbed his wooden sword and raised it high in the air, shouting his father's battle cry as the horse's hooves thundered on the ground beneath him.

The knights grinned when they watched him play. Tristan realized he had not seen a single smile on the boy's face since his arrival at the fort.

* * *

When they rode through the gates that evening, a man shouted: "Be careful lad, that horse might eat ya!" A roar of laughter rose from the people on the street.

The laughter died when Tristan stopped his horse right next to the troublemaker and glared down menacingly. "Leave him alone," Tristan growled. The man's face twisted into a snarl and for a moment he seemed ready to spit a rude comment. At Tristan's threatening glare though, he cowered and hurriedly stepped out of the way, disappearing into a side street.

Nobody shouted anymore. When he passed them by, Balan could hear the villagers hissing angrily, now whispering their comments behind his back.

As soon as they had entered the stables, Bors walked up to him. "Don't ye listen to them, lad. It won't be long, and then ye'll show 'em something!" He tried to slap the back of Balan's head. When Balan ducked, Bors laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. Then he grabbed the boy roughly, lifted him up and plunged him straight into his new horse's trough.

Laughter rose from the knights and even Tristan chuckled when Dagonet handed Balan one of Bors' old shirts so he could dry himself. Balan grinned shyly. Jols came over and gave the three new boys some brushes and a few other tools for grooming their horses, which the boys accepted with gratitude.

After the horses had been taken care of, the knights hungrily left for the tavern, in dire need of Vanora's splendid cooking skills.

* * *

Later that week the knights went out on a mission. Galahad and Balan were told to stay behind and they watched from the parapets as Pelleas rode out with the knights. Pelleas' sword had been returned to him and he carried a battle axe in his belt. Their friend looked very brave, but Balan and Galahad knew better.

They returned to the practice area and started sparring with their wooden swords. Both boys found the use of a wooden sword extremely humiliating. They hated it more than they were willing to let on. Although Balan had to admit that a wooden sword did have its advantages over a real sword. Specifically when practising the new moves that Tristan had taught him. If either of them made a mistake, they were less likely to end up wounding or killing each other.

Sparring with Galahad was different from sparring with Tristan. Tristan could easily block his every move without blinking. Balan only managed to strike Tristan if the older knight purposely let him do so, in order to teach him a new move. Galahad was good, but Balan noticed that he had his weaknesses. With his father's and Tristan's lessons in mind, Balan began to focus on trying to get through Galahad's defences.

Jols watched the boys with a grin. Young Galahad was most unwilling to let a younger boy best him. However, the curly-haired boy's face was bright red from his efforts, as young Balan certainly gave him a very hard time to uphold his honor!

* * *

The villagers took advantage of the knights' absence by taunting the boys even worse than they had done before. Galahad became their additional target, the locals asking him hatefully whether he was the baby's new nurse, or if he still needed to be swaddled himself, then.

Vanora would see no more of it and decided to call the boys over to join her in the tavern. She ushered them into the kitchen.

"No-one comes into my kitchen unless I want it," she told the boys. "And those who do come in have to follow my rules. Don't ya listen to them."

Gratitude radiated from Balan's and Galahad's eyes.

"Do you two have yer knives with ya?" Vanora asked.

The boys shook their heads. By Ruccius' orders they were still not allowed the use of real weapons. Vanora dropped two kitchen knives onto the table, followed by a huge heap of carrots and several cabbages.

"Here, cut these up for me. And then you can help me wash the parsnips."

A kitchen maid sneered. But Vanora just glared at her and sent the woman out of the kitchen to scrub the tables.


	7. Deserter

**07 Deserter**

_**Warning: Extreme physical violence in this chapter! If you are opposed, do not read on!**_

Tristan had been outside the fort, sparring with Lancelot. All the knights had been there, and even Arthur had joined them on the fields to spar with them.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and nobody wanted to be inside the grey and dusty practice yard on a day like this. Everybody in the fort was thriving on this first warm and sunny day of the year. The air was buzzing with chatter, men were laughing, children were playing and even the Romans seemed to be in a good mood for a change.

Until they found out that the boy was missing.

And he wasn't just missing. He had taken his kit bag with his few belongings with him. A broken window told them that Balan had tried to break into the armoury to retrieve his weapons. Apparently though, he had failed and left without them.

They had no idea how long the boy had been gone. Tristan remembered sending him back to the fort to get a few throwing-knives from their room. It had not been until much later that he had noticed the boy had not yet returned.

Lancelot cursed. Bors muttered loudly about someone needing a beating and Gawain looked worried. Brumear and Agloval questioned the locals for information, but they returned without news. The knights hurriedly prepared their horses to go look for the boy.

Meanwhile Tristan was unable to get away from an outraged Ruccius, who roared at the top of his lungs, bellowing insult after insult at him about lazy Sarmatian dogs not even capable of watching their own breed. Finally Arthur managed to point out to Ruccius that it would be better to allow Tristan to join the search party. The sooner they would be able to leave, the better their chances of finding the young boy.

* * *

As Tristan urged his horse through the forest, looking for any signs or traces, he did not know what he should hope for. He knew the boy's chances of survival were low if he was on his own in the forest without weapons. But if he would be found, his fate was barely going to be any better now. Romans were never easy on deserters, punishing them harshly. The boy would not be the first one to die from his punishment.

Several times they regrouped near the fort. And every time the message was the same: no sign of the boy. Ruccius even sent a troop of Roman soldiers out to go looking for the young deserter. Tristan secretly hoped that the boy would be safely hidden in the hills and that somehow he would manage to make his way back to Sarmatia one day.

The knights had all become quiet. They knew that if the boy would be found now, things were looking very bad for him.

* * *

As he rode up to the gates, he was met with the solemn gazes of Bors, Dagonet and Gawain. Galahad sat white-faced on his horse next to Brumear and he could tell that Pelleas had been crying.

"They found him," Bors said softly.

Tristan held his breath for a moment. Then his eyes insisted on more information.

"He's alive," said Dagonet. "I don't think they've flogged him as badly as they would have had he been a grown man. He may have to thank Arthur Castus for that."

"Yet they've shocked the entire fort with their brutal way of handling him," Brumear grumbled. "I don't think anyone who heard his screams will be able to forget them any time soon."

Pelleas let out a small sob and Galahad looked like he was going to be sick.

"They whipped him until he fell unconscious," Bors told Tristan. "They brought him round and whipped him again. Until he passed out. Then the same again. And again."

Even Bors was quiet now.

"When they were done, they dropped him to the ground as if he was nothing but a dirty rag," Pelleas whispered, choking on his words. "The soldiers just left him lying in the mud and walked away. They didn't even look back to see if he would live or not."

Tears rolled down Pelleas' face.

Tristan turned his gaze to Dagonet, demanding.

"Arthur Castus eventually picked him up and carried him to the infirmary," Dagonet added.

"Lancelot is with him now."


	8. I cannot stay here

**08 I cannot stay here**

_**Warning: Some violence.**_

It took hours for Balan to come round after his thrashing. Unable to move because of the searing pain in his body, he only opened his eyes to see Tristan sitting by his side. Comforted by the presence of the older knight, Balan closed his eyes and drifted off into unconsciousness again.

They had to wait for almost three weeks before Balan could be moved back to the room he shared with Tristan. He still spent the larger part of his days in bed and he had trouble moving his body, but at least he was able to walk a few steps and he managed to keep his food down. Balan was still shocked from the experience and he barely responded when the other knights came to visit him. If he wasn't far away in his memories of home or deeply asleep, he stared numbly at the wall.

The healer said it was a miracle that he hadn't been killed by the fever which had taken hold of him after his beating. The wounds had become infected, which was not uncommon, and Tristan had spent many days and nights in the infirmary, washing the boy's wounds and cooling his blazing body. It had almost taken a week for the fever to break.

Now that the boy's fever was gone though, the healer was positive that the boy was going to be all right.

* * *

Another few weeks had passed, and Balan's health was getting better every day. He still slept more than he usually did, but Tristan believed he would probably be able to resume the boy's training within a week. The boy was able to move his body again, and earlier that day he had even managed a little run through the practice area.

His eyes went to the sleeping form of the boy.

"Balan," he said softly.

He walked over and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hey. Come boy."

Sleepily, Balan tried to look up at him.

"Time to get out of bed," Tristan said. He walked over to the window and opened the shutters to let the afternoon light into their room.

He was about to either pull the boy from his bed or to aid him with some water, when something drew his attention. The boy's blanket, which had partly slid off the bed, moved aside when the boy went to sit on the edge of his bed.

It was then that he saw the boy's kit bag. It was lying underneath the bed, hidden by the blanket. It was filled …

His eyes instantly went to the wall where the boy kept his things.

Empty.

* * *

Before Balan knew what was happening, Tristan was pushing him with his nose against his kit bag. The material was rough against his face and his nose began to bleed, but Tristan held him firmly in place.

"Explain!" demanded Tristan. His voice was eerily calm and cold.

Realizing with a jolt that his plan had been revealed, Balan suddenly panicked. He had hoped to get away from the fort once the knights would leave their quarters for supper. But now that Tristan knew, there wouldn't be any chance to get out for months! Desperate to escape, Balan began to fight Tristan's grip with all his might.

Surprised by the boy's actions, Tristan had to shift his balance and readjust his grip. The boy fought like a wild cat, kicking, scratching and punching where he could. It took Tristan more than a few moments to pin the thrashing boy down underneath him.

Still weakened from his fever, Balan couldn't keep up the pace long enough. Within a minute he was locked in Tristan's strong grip again. His panic now complete, Balan lost every sense of reality. "Let go!" he cried, and when Tristan didn't let go he started screaming at the top of his voice.

"Boy!"

Tristan shouted at him. Demanded that the boy be quiet. He even shook him in an attempt to get through to the young lad. But Balan only screamed and fought desperately to break free.

Finally Tristan loosened one hand from his grip and clamped it over the boy's mouth.

A searing pain shot through his hand and he realized the boy had bitten him. Without thinking he grabbed the boy by his shoulder, and bit him back.

An agonized scream from Balan made him stop.

But when he looked up, he noticed that the boy's panic had finally subsided.

* * *

"You do not bite me! Understand?!" he said, as he glared directly into the boy's eyes. The boy nodded weakly and let out his breath.

Tristan pushed Balan back onto his bed.

"Fool!" he spat. "What were you thinking! One should think that last month's thrashing would have taught you something!"

He noticed that the boy's shoulder was bleeding where he had bitten it.

Balan did not speak while Tristan washed out the wound. His tears ran quietly across his face.

"I cannot stay here," he finally managed.

Tristan looked up at him, his calm eyes studying Balan's face.

"You will have to, boy," he replied, not unkindly.

He walked over to his closet and took a few long strips of leather from a drawer.

"I'm going to tie you to your bed for the remainder of the day," he informed the boy. "I'll be going down to the practice area and I cannot risk you running away again."

Balan did not even protest when Tristan tied his wrists and ankles and fastened them to the bed.

"I'll be back after supper", Tristan said before leaving the room.

Balan nodded quietly.

When Tristan had closed the door behind him, Balan shivered.

He had been willing to risk his life and another beating to try and desert from his service to the Romans once more. He had known that Romans were brutal, but he had never thought they would whip him like they did. He refused to stay and fight for these monsters.

He was aware though that neither Tristan nor the Romans would give him a single chance to escape in the coming months. His next attempt would have to wait.

He rubbed his eyes on his upper arm and rested his head on his mattress. He would have to bide his time and try to settle into his life in Britain for a while. Exhausted and sore, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

AN: Once again, many thanks to my Beta! To my readers: Thank you for reading. I would love to hear what you all think. I am open to constructive criticism, both positive and negative. So please review!


	9. Running

**09 Running**

"Faster, boy! Faster!"

The sun warmed his face as he watched Balan run.

He nodded in approval when Balan handed him the arrow. "Good."

Tristan placed the arrow on his bow again and bit back a grin when he saw the appalled look on the boy's face. He let loose and the arrow flew back to the target, about two hundred yards away across a shallow dip in the hill.

Balan stood watching him sceptically.

"Go!" Tristan urged. "Go get it again."

He could tell that the boy was fuming.

Nonetheless, Balan ran down the rolling slope of the hill and up on the other side to retrieve the arrow from its target.

A little while later the panting boy returned to the top of the hill where Tristan stood, and handed back the arrow a second time.

"Very good!"

Tristan laughed inwardly at the expression in Balan's eyes when he picked up his bow a third time and neatly returned the arrow to the target.

Balan turned to run down the slope again, but this time Tristan stopped him.

"Wait," he said.

He pulled nine more arrows from his quiver and shot them, one by one, into the target.

Then he pointed across the valley.

"You run to the target and return the arrows to me one at a time. With time you will get tired, but I want you to keep running as fast as you can."

Balan nodded.

"If I do not think you've run as fast as you can, I will shoot the arrow back into the target and you will have to do it again."

Balan frowned, but said nothing.

"You may not stop or rest, until you have returned all of the arrows to me."

He handed the boy his waterskin. "Drink something boy, you'll be needing it."

* * *

The first two arrows had been relatively easy. A little too easy perhaps, for with the second arrow he had not really tried very hard, and Tristan had promptly shot the arrow back into the target.

With a shrug Balan turned around and ran down the slope to retrieve the arrow a second time.

He noticed that he was beginning to feel his legs.

Ignoring the feeling, he pulled the arrow from the target and ran back down the slope to the bottom of the shallow valley. Then up on the other side to return the arrow to Tristan. This time Tristan put it back into his quiver.

Retrieving the third arrow became an inner battle of willpower. He forced his legs to move as fast as they normally did when he was running, but he only barely managed to make them do so. He had to push himself so hard that it hurt.

Noticing how this inner battle was rapidly exhausting him, he realized he was never going to be able to retrieve the remaining seven arrows this way. So upon retrieving the fourth one, he still ran rather fast, but he did not push himself to his limits any longer.

Tristan calmly shot the arrow back into the target.

Remembering his father's lessons on saving his energy, Balan did not curse, nor did he complain. He turned around and focused on his strides, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and the dull throbbing in his head that occasionally clouded his vision.

With the arrow in his hand he forced himself back up the hill, but he didn't even come close to the speed he had had with the first few arrows. Ignoring the dreadful thought that Tristan might shoot the arrow back to the target, Balan focused on his body, pushing himself further and further to his limits.

When he reached the top, Tristan was waiting for him with the waterskin and ordered him to drink. Then he was sent off again.

Balan was halfway down the slope when he realized that Tristan had accepted the arrow. Only six more to go.

* * *

After three goes at the fifth arrow, Balan was reduced to tears. He had to struggle to keep putting one leg in front of the other and still make it look like running.

"You are not trying hard enough," Tristan kept telling him.

Finally, Tristan accepted the fifth arrow, but that still meant he had five more arrows to go.

The sixth arrow was a nightmare. When Tristan shot it back to the target for the fifth time, Balan sank to his knees, gasping that he couldn't possibly walk anymore.

Tristan pulled him back to his feet and shoved him towards the slope. "Run boy!"

Tripping over his own feet, not bothering to fight back his tears, Balan stumbled down the slope. He was far from running now. He just moved forward. His entire body was aching and his vision went black several times. He frequently fell, but he got to his feet as fast as he could, so that Tristan would not see it as a reason to shoot the arrow back.

Balan made sure not to linger at the target – as Tristan had previously seen this as a reason not to accept the arrow – and he set himself to the tormenting task of returning the arrow to the scout.

* * *

Before he was halfway up the slope, he was at the end of his strength. Breathing had become so painful that he had to stop to gasp for air. Further up the slope he saw Tristan shake his head. Numb with pain and exhaustion he moved onwards, hoping against all odds that Tristan would change his mind.

When Tristan finally took the sixth arrow from his hand, he sank to the grass and barely even noticed that Tristan shot the arrow back to the target.

"Come on, boy!" Tristan urged.

"I can't," Balan whimpered weakly.

"Yes you can," Tristan replied calmly but determinedly.

He put the boy back on his feet, but this time he remained by the boy's side as he stumbled down the slope.

Half walking, half crawling, Balan managed to reach the target. The pain became unbearable and his body refused to move when he struggled back to return the arrow to the hill. Several times he fell flat on his face, but Tristan kept pulling him up and urging him on.

Finally his world became black and he knew no more.

* * *

AN: _A very Spartan training for Balan. To all those who wish to kill me for tormenting the wee lad so: Do remember that Tristan is training Balan for the battlefield. If Balan is to survive hordes of menacing Saxons, fanatic Woads and other vile creatures all eager to end his young life, he has to be prepared properly. Tristan knows what he is doing._

_Do not try this at home with your brothers, sons or boyfriends, though! Pushing someone to the point of complete exhaustion like this is not without risk! Especially for children!_


	10. Conflict

**10 Conflict**

"Run boy!" he said, glaring.

Balan looked up at him intently and slowly shook his head. He knew he was risking his skin, defying Tristan like this. But he had made up his mind and he was not backing down.

Tristan shrugged and pulled two more arrows from his quiver. Seconds later they were neatly embedded in the target on the other side of the valley.

"You will do more then," he stated.

Balan felt his anger rising. He would _not_ "do more". He refused to retrieve any more arrows for Tristan like this. Twice now had Tristan made him run to fetch a number of arrows until he had literally collapsed. He was not going to do it again.

Tristan looked at the boy expectantly.

Balan didn't move.

Determined to end the boy's defiance, Tristan took a few steps in his direction. Alarmed, Balan fought his urge to back away.

Tristan grabbed Balan's arm and dragged him towards the slope. He pushed the boy forward, but after a few steps, Balan stopped and turned around.

A defiant gleam shone from the boy's eyes.

"Don't push it, boy," Tristan warned.

The boy withstood the scout's ominous gaze in silence.

Balan knew Tristan would not hesitate to punish him if he did not run soon. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

He thought of his father's words.

* * *

_(flashback)_

"No man ever really looses his freedom, Balan, until the day he decides to give it away."

They were standing on a hill overlooking the vast Sarmatian landscape, watching the bustling of their tribe between the cluster of tents below.

Dinadan cupped his son's cheek and caressed the boy's head. "Romans can be cruel, my son. Many of them will not hesitate to hurt you if you do not follow their rules. You will not be able to change that. So remember there is no point in fighting it."

Balan looked up at his father, listening attentively.

Dinadan placed his large hands on his son's shoulders and lowered himself to the boy's eye level.

"Always remember one thing, my son. Only because they hurt you when you break the rules, it doesn't mean you are not free. These rules are their rules. Not yours. If you decide from the bottom of your heart that you do not agree with them, I want you to consider your options and find your own freedom. Even if that means you have to endure the pain they will inflict upon you."

Balan nodded.

"So I must break the rules?" he asked.

"Only those worth breaking," Dinadan replied. "Only those worth enduring the pain for."

He lowered his head briefly before looking deeply into his son's brown eyes.

"Do not be afraid of the pain, my boy. You can always choose to endure the rule, rather than the pain. But remember that you are the one making that choice within the freedom of your heart. You are the one choosing. This way you are always free."

_(end of flashback)_

* * *

Tristan glared as he moved his hand to his belt.

"Must I help you, boy?" he threatened.

Balan flinched. Tristan would keep on whipping him until he would run, he was certain of that.

He tried to calm his racing mind. He did not want to run. But he did not want to be whipped either. He had considered the option of running back to the fort. But once he would get there, he had nowhere to go.

Balan bit his lip. He was _not_ going to give up now.

"Suit yourself boy," Tristan commented and unbuckled his belt.

It took all of Balan's willpower to stay where he was when Tristan stepped towards him.

"Kneel, boy."

Balan refused.

Tristan grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair and pushed him to the ground.

Recognizing defeat, Balan grasped the grass firmly and tried to ignore his fear. He was not going to run, he kept telling himself.

At the first lash of Tristan's belt, Balan bit his lip so hard it started bleeding. He was only wearing a thin shirt and the belt cut into his skin.

A second lash cut through the first one.

"Now run, boy!" Tristan demanded.

Balan clenched his fists and tried to ignore the pain. He would not!

A third time the belt cracked across his back.

The searing pain almost caused him to scream. His arms buckled and his head collided with the ground. Balan realized that he was not going to win this. Tears started burning in his eyes.

Without a word he jumped to his feet and started running down the slope.

Tristan's eyes followed him warily.

* * *

AN: _An update without the assistance of my wonderful beta, Priestess of the Myrmidon. Priestess needs her time to do other things from now on, so until I have found a new beta, I will be posting my chapters without anyone checking my English. Feel free to let me know if you find any errors!_


	11. Conflict 2

**11 Conflict 2**

Balan wildly wiped the tears off his face as he ran. His face was determined and his eyes were radiating with defiance. He may not be able to win this game, he thought. But that didn't mean he was going to make it easy on the scout.

When he reached the bottom of the valley, he slowed down and simply walked. Tristan shouted at him from the top of the hill, but he stubbornly chose to ignore it. If the scout was going to force him to move faster, he would have to come down, Balan decided.

Moments later an arrow landed just behind his feet. He jumped. Refusing to look back towards the scout, he continued walking. A second arrow landed beside his left boot. Balan was beginning to feel a little worried. Surely Tristan was not going to … ?

He wasn't entirely certain, though.

Muttering curses under his breath, he broke into a trot. An arrow whistling past his ear made it clear that Tristan didn't think he was moving fast enough. He increased his pace and started running.

When he reached the target, he turned around to look across the valley at Tristan. Since the scout was never going to accept this arrow anyway, he took his time to catch his breath. He ducked when he saw Tristan grabbing his bow, and two more arrows thudded into the target. Punishment for his dallying, he realized. He winced. How was he going to get out of this?

His eyes were drawn to a large oak tree, standing about two hundred feet behind him.

* * *

Tristan rolled his eyes. The boy was going to regret this.

Suddenly his frown deepened. Within seconds he had another arrow on his bow and aimed it roughly for the area around the boy's feet. The boy jumped when the arrow hit the ground, but it did not have the desired effect. The boy kept running further away.

Tristan immediately lunged for his quiver and was about to run down the hill, when he noticed the boy was slowing down. He waited to see what would happen.

Suddenly he realized what the boy was up to.

As he expected, the boy disappeared behind the tree. Now safely out of reach of Tristan's arrows.

"Clever move," he thought. He licked his lips and paused for a moment to contemplate his next action.

* * *

Balan couldn't suppress a smile. If Tristan wanted to get to him now, the scout had no choice but to come over to the tree himself.

Tristan, on his side of the valley, realized the same. He did not like to admit defeat, and he glared across the valley to the huge oak tree. There was no other way for it though.

He put aside his pride and made his way down the hill.

* * *

Behind the tree, Balan was aware that his peace would be very short-lived. He peeked around the mighty trunk and saw that Tristan had left the hill top.

Now he was really going to get it, he knew that much. He also knew that he probably wasn't going to win this time, either. But at least he would have been able to make clear to the scout that he wasn't just going to obey like a dog.

Nervous about what was coming, he decided to enjoy his moment of freedom for as long as he still could. He sat down and stared up at the branches above him. The birds were twittering happily, fully unaware of a young boy's woes.

Sooner than he liked, he heard Tristan's footsteps approaching through the grass behind the tree. Balan held his breath. Seconds later a shadow fell over him and Tristan's boots appeared beside his own.


	12. Conflict 3

**12 Conflict 3**

_**Warning: Physical violence in this chapter! If you are opposed, do not read on!**_

Balan nervously kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Get up!" Tristan ordered.

He grabbed the boy by the neck of his shirt and dragged him back towards the target.

"On your knees!" he spat.

The boy instantly obeyed and Tristan cracked his belt across the trembling boy's back.

Balan jumped to his feet in pain. But before Tristan could say anything, he rapidly knelt back down.

Unfazed by the boy's perseverance Tristan continued whipping the 11-year-old hard.

Balan hissed loudly with every lash and he twisted to avoid the blows. No other sound crossed the boy's lips, but Tristan kept on hitting until Balan began to get vocal. He had to get through to this boy!

* * *

Tristan dragged a wincing Balan back through the valley to the top of the hill where he had left his quiver and his bow.

"Run!" he said firmly. "And don't you dare run beyond the target again!"

He couldn't believe his eyes when Balan faced him and slowly shook his head, his cheeks pale with worry.

Tristan looked at the boy hard.

Balan's eyes glittered with fear and he was trembling, but Tristan could still see a spark of deeply determined defiance shining through as well.

"Do not test me, boy," he warned.

He noticed the battle going on inside the boy's head.

"If you do not run, I will not hesitate to hit you again," Tristan said threateningly.

The boy glanced at his belt.

Suddenly the boy's body started shaking vehemently. He bit his lip to stop his teeth from chattering and tears now rolled freely down his cheeks. With all the strength that he could muster, he forced himself to take a few steps towards Tristan. Slowly he bent his shaking knees and knelt down before the scout once more.

The message was clear: The boy was not going to run.

* * *

Stunned, Tristan looked down at the boy in front of him.

"I meant what I said, boy," he warned, as he unbuckled his belt. If the boy had chosen another beating, he could get one, he thought.

The young boy's stubborn act of defiance surprised him. Foolish as it was, it still demanded a great deal of courage. From an older boy he might have expected such a thing. But definitely not from an 11-year-old.

The boy screamed when the belt hit his already ravaged shoulders. No longer able to contain himself, the boy writhed on the ground and he yelled out in pain with every lash that cut his skin.

After several more lashes, Tristan threw aside his belt.

"Will you obey me now?" he asked sternly as he pulled Balan to his feet. He had to hold the boy steady to keep him from falling over.

"Never," the boy whispered faintly, tears rolling down his cheeks. He held on to Tristan's tunic for support.

Tristan guided Balan back to the ground and sat down on the grass right next to him. He waited for the boy to regain some control and handed him his waterskin. Balan drank gratefully.

Tristan glanced at his young charge from the corner of his eyes. He admired the boy's willingness to keep fighting.

"Boy, if you are never going to obey me, then how are we going to live together?" he asked patiently. "We will be fighting a battle of wills every day. I won't have that."

He waited until he was certain that the boy was listening.

"I was assigned to train you, but I can only do so if you do as I say," he stated calmly.

Beside him Balan muttered under his breath.

Tristan reached for the boy's chin and made him look into his eyes. Balan tried to look away angrily, but Tristan kept a firm grip.

"Tell me!" he ordered.

"You are not training me like this!" the boy repeated his words, a little louder now.

Tristan watched Balan intently, waiting for him to go on.

"First I believed you wanted to build up my strength," the boy said, anger flaring up in his eyes. "But it was not true. It only made me weaker. I am not doing it again!"

Realization dawned in Tristan's eyes. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but he forced himself to remain serious.

The boy glared at him.

"You were mistaken," Tristan offered.

"I _was_ training you when I made you run, but it was not your strength that concerned me."

An obvious question now appeared in the boy's eyes.

"Your stamina, boy," Tristan answered. "I wanted you to get to know your limits. Far beyond the point where you believed you could not walk anymore."

He looked at the boy sternly.

"What do you think it is like on the battlefield, when you are bleeding from many wounds? Your ability to hold on will decide between life or death, boy. The moment you give up, the very moment you believe there is no more strength left in you, a sword will cut your throat or an axe will cleave your head."

He let go of the boy's chin, as he had Balan's full attention now.

"When I made you run, I wanted you to feel that you are able to go on much longer than you originally believed. Even though it hurt. And I want you to feel it a few times more, to let you get used to the feeling."

Tristan allowed some time to let his words sink in. Then he lifted Balan's chin and looked deeply into the boy's eyes.

"Even if you are dying in battle, every little thing you still manage to do can save a life. Your own, or someone else's."

* * *

Balan nodded that he understood. He would remember these words for the rest of his life.

He sat beside Tristan in silence.

"I'm sorry I refused to run," he said softly.

"You will have to learn to obey me," Tristan answered. "The battlefield is never a good place for an argument."

When he looked at the now guilty face of the boy beside him, he suddenly laughed.

"You are the most stubborn, head-strong and persistent boy I've ever seen," Tristan chuckled mirthfully, shaking his head.

After enjoying the warm sunlight on the hill for another while, he ordered the boy to collect the arrows and they returned to the fort.

* * *

AN: _Dearest Santa Claus, I wish for plenty of reviews for Christmas!_ :)


	13. Life goes on

**13 Life goes on**

That night in the tavern the other knights listened as Tristan recounted the events.

"Definitely Sarmatian," Bors chuckled.

"Could have been a son of yours, Tristan," Lancelot smirked.

The knights laughed.

Dagonet left the tavern to check on the boy's welts and bruises. But Tristan had already seen to that and the boy was fast asleep.

* * *

That day on the hill was a turning point. Balan and Tristan had both found a basis for trust in the other and from that moment onwards their friendship began to grow steadily. It made life at the fort a lot more bearable.

Summer came and Balan worked hard in the practice yard. Tristan took him to the armoury and together they spent many days perfecting Balan's arrow-making skills. Balan rotated the freshly cut arrow shafts above a small fire in the workshop until his fingers were sore, but eventually he learnt how to make the shafts perfectly straight. Better than he had ever managed to make them before.

"You need a straight shaft for a perfect aim," Tristan told him. "Your life and the lives of others will depend on it. If you are far away from new supply, it is good to be able to make your own."

He took the arrow shaft from Balan's hands and showed him once more how to rotate it. "Like this boy," he explained.

Later that week Tristan took Balan to the practice yard to let him shoot some of his self-made arrows. When the first arrow landed only half an inch from the target's centre, Tristan glanced down at the boy with mild surprise. He didn't say a word though, and only slightly adjusted the boy's stance when the boy aimed his second arrow at the target. This time the arrow hit the bull's eye.

Tristan took the short bow Balan was using from the boy's hands and replaced it with his own Sarmatian composite bow. Balan's eyes widened. He looked up at Tristan questioningly.

Tristan nodded, amused at the boy's delight. "Take your best shot, boy," he said encouragingly.

Balan aimed for the target.

* * *

At the end of the day Tristan was satisfied with the boy's results. Balan couldn't pull the bow's string as far as he ought to yet, but he managed well enough to be able to use a composite bow like Tristan's soon.

Tristan would have to speak with Ruccius about this. The boy was a talented archer, which would come to his advantage on the battle field. If the boy could use a composite bow for a weapon, it would only be better. The long range of the bow would enable the boy to stay far out of reach of his enemies, which would heighten his chance of survival. A composite bow was expensive, but perhaps Ruccius would see the advantage of letting Balan have one.

From that day onwards, Tristan made Balan pull the string of the composite bow every single day after breakfast so he would gain strength.

They continued the running exercise in which Balan had to return arrows to Tristan from across the valley. But after a few more training sessions Tristan no longer wanted the boy to reach the maximum point of exhaustion. They began to work on building up Balan's strength and endurance, and after many long weeks of training, Balan managed to return eight arrows without collapsing.

Tristan was pleased with the boy's progress.

In the evening hours he taught the boy how to whet throwing-knives so that the blade remained well balanced. Though the boy wasn't very good at it at first, Balan soon improved and eventually developed a real knack for it.

* * *

Galahad and Pelleas waited for Balan after every long training day. Pelleas had gotten a little arrogant over being the only one between the three of them to be allowed to ride out with the knights. But when Gaheris overheard his snobbing one day, he revealed to Galahad and Balan that Pelleas had been calling for his mother in his sleep ever since his first mission.

Though Galahad and Balan swore a solemn oath to keep Pelleas' secret, Pelleas was quite subdued in the weeks that followed. He even let Balan and Galahad best him in a sparring match as a way of making things up with them, which pleased Gaheris immensely.

* * *

One night Balan had a long conversation with Tristan about his desire to escape from the fort and return home.

"You can't boy," Tristan said patiently. "You don't want to risk the lives of your family and tribe."

Balan gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?" he asked. He suddenly felt uncertain. Tristan explained how the Romans had punished the families and tribes of deserted Sarmatian conscripts in the past. They had burned villages and crops, killed at random, raped the women and had strewn salt on the lands, leaving the ground barren.

This new revelation hit the boy hard. Until that day he had found strength in the idea that he would escape from the fort soon to try and make his way back to Sarmatia. But now the realization began to sink in that he would not be seeing his family for a very long time.

Night after night Tristan lay listening to the muffled, choking sobs of the inconsolable boy. Until one night he got up and took the crying boy into his arms.

"Sshhh", he whispered and laid his hand on the boy's head. Balan's body was shaking uncontrollably and his face was wet from his tears. Tristan's deep voice softly murmured words of understanding into the boy's ears. After a while he wrapped the weeping and shivering boy in a blanket and sat down with him by the fire.

"Do you miss your father so?" Tristan inquired gently.

Balan nodded through his tears and hid his face in Tristan's chest.

"And my mom," he whispered desperately.

Balan almost choked on the new wave of tears that forced its way up at the thought of his parents. His body jolted erratically and his chest heaved while he tried to regain his breath. Balan's fists firmly clenched the sleeves of Tristan's shirt and he growled and wailed in his grief and anguish.

"Hey," Tristan murmured after a while. "You are my brother. You're not alone."

He nudged the boy softly.

"Balan," he whispered in the boy's ear.

Balan looked up.

"I will be there for you," Tristan said seriously, looking into a pair of red and tearful eyes.

As the night progressed, the distraught expression in the boy's grieving eyes gradually began to grow less. The fire died and the last sounds of nightly activities faded into silence. Tristan remained by the boy's side. When dawn crept in through the window, Balan leant numbly against Tristan's chest, only an occasional sob still shaking his body.


	14. Swimming

**014 Swimming**

"Do you three know how to swim, boys?" Brumear asked one day.

Though most of the knights were able to swim, several brave men had died over the years because battle had lured them into deeper water. Unable to swim, they had lost their lives not by the sword, but simply by their lack of ability. Ruccius couldn't care less, but Arthur was unwilling to lose his men this way. He had convinced Ruccius to let him take his future knights down to a river to practise swimming.

* * *

"Tristan!" Ruccius bellowed. "Your boy will not be going!"

Balan looked up. He had lost his right to ride a horse by himself; Arthur had decided he should ride with Tristan. Now that they were all getting ready to leave, he was mounted behind the scout.

Tristan stared into Ruccius eyes. "I will watch him," he said calmly.

"That boy is a deserter! How will you watch him when he sits behind your back? Before you know it, he will jump off your horse and disappear into the forest!"

Ruccius seemed unwilling to budge.

"How could the boy get far with all of us riding horses? There is no way he could possibly get away!" Lancelot commented.

Ruccius sent him a glare and persisted.

Tristan motioned for Balan to get off the horse. Heavily disappointed Balan slid down to the ground. He had longed to leave the fort and join the knights in the forest for once. Tristan dismounted as well and his eyes rested on his commander's face. Then he lifted Balan back onto his horse and mounted right behind him. He calmly glanced at Ruccius. "Better now?" he seemed to ask.

"It is my wish that this boy learns to swim, Ruccius," Arthur spoke. "We will watch him closely."

"He won't be able to get away," Tristan added, his arms reaching around Balan to take the reins.

Ruccius stared at them with disgust, but he seemed to understand that the counter-argument was reasonable.

He gritted his teeth and nodded.

"I will hold you responsible if the boy does not return!" he warned Tristan.

Arthur gave a sign and the knights rode out through the gates.

* * *

Though it was still very early in the morning, it was already getting warm. Lancelot lazily let the sun tickle his face.

"Mmm! On days like this I don't mind swimming," he sighed blissfully.

"Don't get too happy yet!" Gaheris laughed. "You will be standing on guard for most of the day!"

"Do you claim you want to spend the whole day soaking your ass while your boy is learning how to swim?" Lancelot asked with feigned indignation.

"Most of it," Gaheris grinned.

"Ah! You will get tired of it and take over for me after a while," Lancelot said confidently.

Tristan noticed that Balan was paying close attention to his surroundings. Though the boy rested his back against Tristan's chest as they rode through the forest, he was watching and listening intently.

"What do you hear, boy?" he asked.

"Nothing but the lack of wind, I believe," Balan answered. "But what do we do if there is an attack? You cannot fight with me in front of you."

Tristan hid a smile behind the boy's back.

"Yes, I can boy. At the first hint of an attack, I want you to hand me my bow and some arrows."

Balan nodded.

"Then you take the reins and do exactly as I tell you."

Tristan pointed to a dagger in his quiver and then to a long-knife that was attached to the leather bag which held his bow.

"Take these to defend yourself if needed. I will teach you how to use them when we get home."

Pleased by the prospect of learning more skills, Balan returned his attention to the woods.

* * *

When they reached the river, the knights made a camp for the day. They all took turns guarding the river bank as well as the perimeter of their camp, while the others swam in the river or rested lazily in the sun.

"This is heaven!" Brumear sighed.

"On this island?" Lancelot asked sarcastically.

"Well, as close as it gets anyway," Brumear chortled with a peaceful grin on his face.

Tristan took off his clothes and motioned for Balan to do the same. "Come boy," he said, as he waded into the river.

Hesitantly, Balan followed. The water was cold! But Tristan ignored the chill, so Balan bit his lip and did the same. Several feet away from him, Dagonet, Gaheris and Agravaine plunged into the water. Pelleas and Galahad watched from the shore. Balan waved at them.

When the water reached his thighs, Balan stopped. He had never gone deeper than this before. Tristan turned around. "Are you okay?" he seemed to ask. Balan shivered. "You will soon get used to the water, boy," Tristan encouraged. "Come! Go a little deeper."

Balan gasped when the water reached up to his waist. "Far enough," Tristan said with a grin. He waded back to the boy and stood beside him. "Bend your knees, so the water will reach to your shoulders," he ordered. Balan gritted his teeth at the cold, but he obeyed.

Tristan nodded approvingly. He stayed close to the boy and let him do several exercises.

"Feel boy," he said. "The water can almost carry you. But not quite yet."

Balan moved through the water and felt what Tristan meant.

"When you swim, you must make sure the water _can_ carry you," Tristan added. "Give me your hands."

A little hesitantly, Balan laid his hands in Tristan's large ones.

"I won't let you drown," Tristan promised.

They waded a little deeper into the river until the water reached Balan's chest. Here Tristan stopped.

"Listen boy. I'm going to walk around and pull you with me by your hands. You may walk as well when you follow me, but after a while I want you to lift your feet off the ground. OK?"

Balan gripped Tristan's hands firmly in response.

Tristan walked backwards and Balan followed. Slowly, Tristan increased his speed and Balan had trouble keeping up. Somehow the water got more and more in the way. He felt how he was tilting forward and his feet were falling behind. Faster and faster they went and Balan's steps grew larger and larger, until finally his feet didn't touch the ground anymore and he felt himself gliding through the water! Balan laughed hysterically with pleasure, thrilled at this wonderful new feeling.

Tristan's eyes twinkled mirthfully. So the boy loved this. Good!

When Tristan stopped walking, Balan suddenly panicked, not knowing how to keep his head above the surface. Tristan pulled him to his feet and Balan was relieved to notice that he could stand. "We're going to do this again," Tristan announced, an amused grin playing around his lips. "This time I am going to slow down once you are gliding. You will notice it will be less easy to stay afloat, but you will still be fine without your feet on the ground. I will hold you, boy."

They practised until Balan had found enough confidence to keep his feet off the ground. Then Tristan made him practise the leg movement for swimming.

* * *

Tristan smiled when the boy swam away from his outstretched arms. "Don't go too far, boy!" he called. Balan tried to turn around, but failed miserably and his head disappeared under water. Tristan quickly went after him and pulled him back up. "On your feet, boy! You can stand here," he laughed.

Lancelot approached them. "Still drowning, Balan?" he teased. "You should try harder, or the fish will have you for supper!" The cocky knight lifted the boy in the air and threw him away, causing him to splash back into the water. Balan cheered with excitement. "I love swimming!" he beamed up at Lancelot. "Then try again," Tristan replied, lifting the boy up on his arms to let him swim once more.

They practised for another hour or two until Balan began to feel quite confident. Then Tristan took Balan to the deeper part of the river. While the boy held on to his shoulders, Tristan swam to the other side of the river and back again. Arthur and Lamorak joined them, both complimenting Tristan on Balan's progress.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Tristan decided it had been enough for the day. He chased Balan out of the water. Dagonet and Gaheris were still teaching Pelleas, who was steadily getting better at keeping his head above the surface. Galahad, who had already been able to swim, was practising to stay under water with Bedivere. "Can you teach me that?" Balan asked hopefully. "Next time," Tristan promised.

Tristan got dressed and gathered his weapons. "Wash your clothes, boy," Tristan ordered, before riding off on his horse for his guard-duty. Balan carefully washed the mud from his clothes and then hung them over a few branches to dry.

* * *

AN: _I have found a new beta! The amazing Dferveiro, known in KA fanfic circles for her stories "The Fear of Rome" and "Persistent Knight", has agreed to beta my chapters!_


	15. Arrows

**15 Arrows**

It was a long, hot day. When Tristan returned from his guard duty, he was all sweaty and grimy. His hair was sticking to his forehead and dust covered his face. He instantly threw off his clothes and followed Gawain and Gaheris back into the river. The three knights let themselves float in the water and allowed the river to take them along for a while.

Pelleas had taken over guard duty from Gaheris and Galahad was tending the small fire. Lancelot was lying on the river bank, his feet in the water, enjoying the afternoon sun. Arthur was strolling leisurely through their encampment and Agloval was humming a song as he braided a colourful garland for his girl. Bors was fast asleep in the shadow.

Balan was sitting on the river bank, not far from Lancelot, when he began to feel slightly uncomfortable. As if someone was watching him. He felt a sudden chill despite the heat and there was a prickling sensation in his neck. Balan's blood rushed when he recognized the feeling: Danger! He looked around to warn Arthur, but before he could say a word, Brumear, Pelleas and Dagonet came galloping back to their camp.

"Woads on the opposite shore!" they shouted.

"Get ready to leave!" Arthur bellowed.

Balan hurried to put Tristan's sword in his horse's quiver and tied Tristan's clothes to the back of the saddle. Then he mounted Tristan's horse, put the dagger in his belt and placed his hand on the hilt of the long-knife.

There was no sign of the three swimmers.

Pellinore, Bedivere and Lamorak came galloping back to the river.

Galahad also mounted his horse. He and Pelleas were holding Gawain's and Gaheris' horses, ready for their return. The knights had all drawn their weapons and they turned to the river bank, forming a protective line in front of the boys.

"Arthur, with all respect, we have to leave the river bank!" Lancelot urged.

"Not without the others!" Arthur replied firmly.

"The others might be able to hide! If the Woads cross the river further downstream and surround us here, we will _all_ die, including the boys," Lancelot persisted.

"They haven't surrounded us yet," Arthur replied.

* * *

At that moment, tumult broke lose just behind the next river bend. When they turned, they saw Tristan, Gaheris and Gawain running towards them on the opposite shore, followed by a large group of shouting Woads.

"Cover them!" Arthur ordered. The knights grabbed their bows.

Balan reached for Tristan's quiver, but he realized that the three knights were never going to make it on foot. The group of Woads was gaining on them fast and more Woads were spilling from the forest beyond. The swimmers would have to fight, but they were naked and unarmed! They needed weapons!

Balan kicked Tristan's horse forward towards Galahad and grabbed the reins from his hands. "Quick! Give me that horse!" he shouted to Pelleas. He caught the reins from Pelleas and immediately urged the three horses into a gallop, plunging into the river.

"Balan! Come back this instant!" Arthur shouted.

"Balan!" Bors and Dagonet bellowed.

Balan urged the horses onwards, quickly tying Gawain's and Gaheris' horses to his saddle as they headed for the deeper part of the river. He grabbed Tristan's bow and shot an arrow into an approaching Woad on the opposite shore.

A volley of arrows flew over his head, killing five Woads that had appeared beside the first one.

"We cannot call him back now, Arthur!" Lancelot shouted. "He might be their only chance!"

Several knights made to follow Balan into the river, but Arthur raised his hand. "We will be at a huge disadvantage if we are all in the water while the Woads attack!"

The three horses started swimming, yet Balan fired arrow after arrow at the Woads that were threatening the three knights up ahead. Arrows flew high over his head from both sides of the river, but he kept on going. Brumear, Pellinore and Galahad stayed behind to cover Balan where he was crossing the river, while Arthur led the others downstream to aid the fleeing knights from the opposite shore.

As soon as his horses regained footing, Balan urged them onwards, racing straight at the three knights while dodging several arrows that came flying his way.

"Hurry up!" Bors shouted from across the river.

Balan threw the curved sword to Tristan, who immediately used it to cut down an approaching Woad. Gaheris and Gawain grabbed their axes from their saddles and Balan quickly untied the horses so they could turn around.

"Retreat!" Tristan urged, meanwhile slicing another Woad's stomach.

Balan flung Tristan's dagger into an approaching Woad who had been about to cleave Gaheris' skull. Tristan snatched his dagger from the Woad's neck and plunged it into another Woad's chest, before mounting his horse behind Balan.

"Cover Gawain!" he ordered.

Balan moved Tristan's horse between three furious Woads and the stark naked long-haired knight. Gawain killed the Woad he was fighting and mounted his horse, while Tristan's sword slashed through the flesh of several more blue attackers. Balan killed one with the long-knife and cut a second one square across the face. Finally Gaheris managed to get onto his horse as well, after killing another three Woads with his battle axe.

"Ride!" Tristan ordered. The horses jumped forward.

"Stay on this side of the river, so we can gain enough distance before we cross!" Gaheris bellowed.

* * *

While the horses galloped on the river bank, Balan handed Tristan his bow. Several woads that came running out of the forest ahead of them fell. Behind them the pursuing Woads were assailed by arrows from Arthur and the rest of the knights.

"Give me the reins," Tristan ordered.

In front of them, Gawain urged his horse into the river. Gaheris and Tristan followed. They were about to reach the deepest part of the river when a cloud of arrows began to rain down on them.

"You'll have to swim, boy," Tristan stated. Without further warning he pulled Balan with him from the horse.

"Stay next to the horse! Swim, boy!" Tristan panted.

Balan tried as hard as he could, but for some reason he kept slipping beneath the water. Tristan pulled him to the surface. "Hold me!" he ordered. Balan gasped for air and clung to the scout. "Swim!" Tristan shouted. "Use your legs!" Balan tried, but Tristan's body was in the way. To make matters worse, the scout wouldn't swim as fast as Balan wanted.

"Slow down your movements, boy!" Gaheris panted behind him. "Let the water carry you!"

Exhausted, Balan wasn't able to think anymore. He let Tristan drag him along while he kicked his legs in panic. An arrow struck Tristan in his left biceps and the water instantly turned red. Just then though, the horse regained its footing. Tristan held on to his horse's mane and grasped Balan under his arm, letting the horse pull them both out of the water.

"Ride!" Arthur's voice ordered. "The Woads are crossing!" Strong hands lifted Tristan and Balan back onto their horse and urged them on. Balan vaguely noticed Gawain and Gaheris riding beside them as they galloped away from the river.


	16. Punished

**16 Punished**

_**Warning: Physical violence in this chapter! If you are opposed, do not read on!**_

Far from the river the knights halted. The Woads had fallen behind and had eventually let them go.

They all dismounted and checked themselves for injuries. Apart from the three swimmers, no-one had taken more serious harm than a few scratches, though. Tristan's arm was bleeding profusely. Gaheris sported a wound on his thigh and Gawain had a cut on his forehead. The three naked knights had dried during the wild ride, but since their horses had been swimming, their clothes were just as soaked as Balan's were.

Lancelot and Agloval hurried to make a fire, while the other men shared some of their dry clothes with the swimmers. Bedivere ordered a shivering Balan to strip and wrapped the exhausted boy in Agravaine's cloak.

Dagonet tended to the swimmers' injuries.

"The wound is not deep. You'll be fine within a few days," Dagonet's deep voice told Tristan reassuringly. He stitched up the wound and bandaged the scout's arm.

Arthur told Bors and Brumear to keep watch and ordered Pelleas to check on the horses. Galahad eagerly made to follow his friend, but he was called back by Arthur and told to heat some water.

After taking care of Gaheris and Gawain, Dagonet came over to Balan.

"Have you been hurt?" the giant asked kindly.

Balan shook his head.

Dagonet quickly looked him over.

"Your lips are blue, you have to drink something hot," Dagonet insisted. He instructed Galahad to prepare some tea and started rubbing Balan with the cloak until the boy's skin was glowing red.

"Will Tristan be all right?" Balan asked Dagonet apprehensively.

"I'm fine," Tristan's deep voice answered. He sat down next to Balan and laid a hand on the boy's head. Galahad brought them mugs filled with steaming tea and they both sat in silence for a while, watching as the other knights made a simple camp.

Bors returned from his watch duty to report and Bedivere rode out to take over for him. After speaking with Arthur, Bors came over to check on Balan. "Yeh ol righ' there, lad?" he rasped. He reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a leather pouch which was filled with strips of dried meat. "'Ere, lad, eat," Bors said kindly. "'tis good ter eat after battle."

Balan sat contentedly next to Tristan and let the bustle pass him by in a blur. He chewed his jerky and occasionally sipped from his tea. He drowsily stared into the fire and watched how the heat created little wisps of vapour above the knights' drying clothes.

The evening was still young when Gaheris and Gawain walked up to him.

"Balan," Gawain said ceremoniously. "I believe I owe my life to you today."

"You risked your life to save us, boy," Gaheris added. "It was either very brave of you, or very stupid. But I am glad you did it anyway."

He reached out and grabbed Balan's hand.

"You ungrateful dog!" Bors roared. "Don't listen to him, boy! I will drink to you tonight!" He raised his waterskin in the air. "Tonight in the tavern, we'll celebrate!"

All the knights roared their approval.

Tristan said nothing. But when Balan looked at him, Tristan nodded and silently expressed his gratitude. Balan smiled. "You saved my life as well," he whispered, causing the corners of Tristan's mouth to twitch upwards.

* * *

"Balan?"

Balan looked up.

"I'd like to have a word with you."

Arthur sat down on the other side of the boy.

Most of the knights were busy discussing the events of the day, arguing whether or not they should have noticed the Woads any earlier. Tristan and Balan had remained in the background, enjoying the arrival of slightly cooler air as evening progressed.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"Look at me, Balan," Arthur said kindly.

Balan turned to look directly into Arthur's eyes.

"What you did today was very brave," Arthur began. "You saved the lives of three of our knights and I sincerely thank you for your courage. I will make sure that you will be rewarded when we get back to the fort."

Balan nodded to indicate he was listening.

"Nevertheless, you disobeyed my order to return to us, Balan," Arthur continued.

His voice was kind and calm, but it had a serious undertone now.

"Balan, this is the worst thing a knight can do in battle. You will have to obey my orders. If every knight would follow his own impulses while under attack, they might each as well fight the enemy alone! If we are to survive and gain victory, we will have to work as a team. I need to be able to trust you!"

Balan looked at Arthur in wonder. How could the Roman officer say such a thing? If he had obeyed Arthur's order to return, Tristan, Gawain and Gaheris would be dead by now!

He wondered if he could mention it. "Might I say something?" he asked hesitantly.

Arthur smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"There was no time to wait for your order to cross the river," Balan began. "Nor to argue about it. I was the only one capable of doing this."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and looked at the boy questioningly. Tristan turned to listen, as he had not been there when Balan had left Arthur and the others.

"There were three knights in danger. Any of us crossing the river to help them, could only take two extra horses with him without causing too much delay," Balan explained. "This means two knights had to share a horse on the way back. Horses cannot gallop at full speed if they have two heavy knights on their back."

He looked up to see if Arthur understood.

"I am small and light and Tristan is not that heavy. We can ride together without being too much weight for a horse. And by taking Tristan's horse with me, as well as Gaheris' and Gawain's, all three knights had their own weapons to fight with."

Arthur marvelled at the fast thinking the boy had obviously done before galloping into the river. He had believed it to be an act of blind courage, but here the boy revealed a surprisingly intelligent side to himself.

He noticed that the knights had all gone quiet and were listening to their conversation now.

"Not only did this boy save three lives," Lancelot began. "Did you notice the way he handles a Sarmatian bow?"

The knights all started talking at once, praising the boy for the way he had shot his arrows into at least two dozen woads, if you had to believe them. Balan knew that Tristan hadn't even had that many arrows in his quiver. But he chose to remain silent, too shy to interrupt.

"He killed a Woad with Tristan's dagger, too!" Gawain added excitedly.

"And killed another with Tristan's long-knife!" Gaheris continued, beaming at the boy.

"And he nearly drowned in the river," Tristan's deep voice commented dryly, causing a storm of protest from Bors and the other knights.

"Enough now!" Arthur called.

"Balan, I know that most of your brothers here will be celebrating your bravery until deep into the night. They are already exaggerating your achievements and I doubt that this will change before the next sunrise."

A few knights protested, but Arthur raised his hand for silence.

"As I said before, Balan, you disobeyed my orders. I am proud of what you did and I am grateful you saved your brothers' lives. But I do not want the praise from your brothers to lead you to believe that you can disobey my orders again in the future. Therefore I will order Tristan to give you a mild beating when we return to the fort. It will be your punishment for your disobedience, but it will not be meant to hurt you. It will mostly serve to make sure today's victory will not get to your head."

A deafening silence was followed by a roar of protest from the knights, but Arthur did nothing to quiet them. He let them rage at him and answered their indignant and angry questions with remarkable patience.

"You want to punish him for saving my life?" Gaheris asked furiously.

"If he does it again next time, it might cost you your life," Arthur replied patiently. "He will not be punished harshly. Just enough to serve as a reminder."

Arthur looked at Tristan, who nodded.

Tristan agreed with Arthur. The boy was talented and he had already shown some promising character qualities. The last thing they needed was for Balan to get arrogant and lose his head. The boy was humble in nature and it was better to keep it that way. Tristan knew very well how too much praise at an early age could ruin young boys for the rest of their lives.

Balan, however, bit his lip. He clearly did not agree with his impending punishment. Tristan noticed the boy's blazing eyes and chuckled inwardly. He wasn't going to beat the boy hard. He was only going to let him feel it a little. Just enough to take him down a peg or two.

Balan felt his anger rising, but he stubbornly focused on his breathing, determined to keep his frustration hidden from the others. In his mind, he had done nothing wrong. He had saved three lives! Was he to be punished now?!

* * *

When the swimmers' clothes had dried, the knights broke up camp to return to the fort. Nothing else happened to disturb their journey that evening.

Upon arrival, Tristan immediately urged Balan to the knights' quarters.

"The others will want to have you down in the tavern to celebrate, boy," Tristan explained. "I will punish you first, and then you can go."

"I will not be punished!" Balan spat as they entered their room.

"Yes you will, boy," Tristan said calmly. He sat down on the edge of Balan's bed.

"Come," he said and he reached out to pull the boy across his knee.

At this, Balan instantly twisted from Tristan's grip and ran to the door.

"Don't you dare run away, boy!" Tristan threatened.

Knowing well what this tone of voice meant, Balan hesitated in the doorway.

"Close the door, boy!"

Balan silently muttered several curses and forced himself to close the door. But he did not return to Tristan. He positioned himself on the opposite side of the room, glaring at the scout.

"You will not take me across your knee!" he said angrily. "Hit me with your belt if you want, but I will not go across your knee!"

Tristan shook his head.

"I will take you across my knee, boy. This punishment is not meant to hurt you, so I am not hitting you with my belt."

"I am _not_ a baby!" Balan spat.

"Then stop acting like one," Tristan observed. "Come get your punishment like a big boy then."

When Balan didn't move, Tristan stood up and dragged the obstinate boy to the bed.

"My arm might hurt, boy. But you still have to obey me."

Balan resisted like a pig at the butcher's shop. He nearly managed to twist from the scout's grip and he kicked Tristan's legs hard.

"I will pull your breeches down for that, boy," Tristan stated unrelentingly, pulling the boy across his knee.

"Never!" Balan roared, still struggling to break free.

Tristan trapped the boy's legs between his own and pushed the boy's head down to the ground.

"No!" Balan shouted, as Tristan tugged at his breeches.

"Thank yourself for that," Tristan replied gruffly. "You should have obeyed me if you don't like having your buttocks exposed!"

Tristan shook his head. They had spent the whole day swimming and he hadn't noticed even the slightest hint that the boy felt uncomfortable with nudity. But apparently the matter changed drastically for the boy in case of being punished across someone's knee.

Balan punched Tristan's left leg hard with both his fists, hoping against better knowledge that the scout would let him go. When it didn't work, he furiously tried to bite Tristan's calves. A painful slap came to the back of his head, followed by an even harder slap to his rear.

"I wasn't going to hit you hard boy," Tristan snarled. "But now I promise I will give it to you."

Balan swallowed. He had heard the dangerous undertone in Tristan's voice. Suddenly he wished he had simply taken his mild punishment when it had been offered, but it was too late for that now.

Tristan took Balan's wooden practice sword from the foot of the bed and whacked it down on the boy's quivering buttocks. The boy's head shot up and he cried out in pain.

"Not so hard!" Balan begged.

"Only minutes ago you asked me to use my belt on you, boy. Stop complaining!" Tristan admonished.

He continued hitting the boy rather firmly with the flat side of the wooden sword, ignoring the desperate pleas and protests from Balan. The boy had to learn not to bite him! And he was not willing to tolerate such a fuss either. When he finished, the boy lay limply across his lap and cried.

"Get up, boy," Tristan urged.

Balan slid from Tristan's lap and pulled up his breeches with a deeply ashamed look in his eyes. He waited for Tristan to stand up from his bed, before hiding his head under his blankets.

"You may want to calm down and wash your face, boy," Tristan suggested. "The others are waiting for you in the tavern."

"I'm not coming," Balan muttered.

Tristan chuckled and waited for the boy to calm down.

"Come, boy," he repeated kindly after a few minutes.

"I'm not coming!" Balan shouted loudly from under his blankets.

Tristan walked to the bed and pulled the covers away. He made Balan stand up and took the boy's chin in his hand.

"Listen, Balan, Bors is waiting for you. He wants to celebrate. You don't want to disappoint him."

Balan glared furiously into Tristan's eyes.

"I'm not coming!" he said again.

Tristan shrugged. "Suit yourself then. I have warned you."

And with these words Tristan left the room.


	17. The end of a long day

**17 The end of a long day**

**_Warning: Physical violence in this chapter! If you are opposed, do not read on!_**

Balan didn't have to wait long before he heard Bors' shouts coming up the hallway.

"Where are ye, ye pig-headed little worm?" his voice boomed. The door burst open and Bors came in, fuming.

"I thought ye were a worthy knight!" Bors shouted. "I praised ye fer yer courage, and fer your skill! And what do ye do? Make a fuss over a little beating!"

He shook the boy roughly by his shoulder. "What were ye thinking, boy?! Causing such a racket over that?! And then feeling offended when Tristan treats ye good?!"

He grabbed Balan's wrist and hauled him from his bed.

"So ye think ye need to be sulking up here? I'll show ye how I feel about sulking, lad!"

And with these words, Bors dragged Balan out of the knights' quarters and headed straight for the tavern.

* * *

The knights were sitting at a long table with wooden benches on either side, and Bors sat down at the end of one of them. Before Balan realized what was happening, Bors had pushed his head under the table and was yanking at his breeches to take them down. He instantly wanted to protest, but he quickly held his tongue when he thought back of Bors' words.

Then his thoughts were abruptly erased from his mind. All he could feel and think of were the stinging blows that Bors landed on his rear. Already sore in this region, he kicked his legs at the new fire in his backside. As suddenly as it had started though, it stopped.

"Do ye deny that ye deserved the beating from our Tris?" Bors boomed.

Balan swallowed. He knew that Bors was right. It was just so humiliating to admit it!

"No," he muttered from under the table.

"Good!" Bors said loudly. He landed three more whacks on Balan's backside.

"Tha's what you get fer yer sulking, then!"

He pulled the boy back to his feet. Balan awkwardly noticed that all of the knights were looking at him. A few sent him compassionate smiles and nods, but most of them just smirked or laughed openly.

"Sit down!" Bors ordered.

Balan looked at him pleadingly, but Bors told him to sit down on the bench and be quiet. Very carefully Balan sat down, biting his lip as he did so. The knights laughed, though Dagonet looked a little concerned.

"Right!" Bors announced with a grin. "Me thinks tha's settled!"

He looked down at the boy beside him and ruffled Balan's hair.

"Let's not ferget why we're here tonight, lad!"

He waved to Vanora, who had been watching from a corner of the tavern.

"Woman, we want to celebrate!"

The knights roared their approval. Jugs of ale were brought in by the barmaids and the knights started filling their mugs. Bors had arranged for Balan to be given a mug of watered-down mead, which surprised Tristan until his eyes found Dagonet's. The tall knight nodded with mirth in his eyes. Tristan nodded his thanks.

When all knights had had their mugs refilled, Bors made Balan stand up on the bench and the knights called out for him to stand on the table. Then they all raised their mugs and drank to his health.

"To a brave young knight!" Bors roared, and they all repeated his words loudly.

"To the boy who saved my life today!" Gawain added.

"To the fool who risked his life to save my ass, sacrificing his own!" Gaheris exclaimed with the broadest grin. He just couldn't resist.

They all laughed, including Balan. Though one particular knight had to be restrained by a few others, for Bors wished to place one of his sledgehammer-sized fists between Gaheris' eyes.

"Arrogant fool!" Bors muttered, taking a large swig of his ale. "You should have left him to the Woads, lad," he said to the boy beside him.

Galahad and Pelleas came over to Balan's side of the table.

"Are you okay?" Galahad whispered pointedly.

"I'd rather not sit," Balan whispered back, causing Galahad to look at him gravely and Pelleas to snigger.

"Hey Balan!" Lancelot called from across the table. "Arthur has just informed me that tomorrow we'll be training on horseback all day!"

The pained look on Balan's face made the knights all burst out in laughter. Balan felt his stomach sink. He couldn't possibly sit on a horse tomorrow!

"He's only joking, lad," Bors chuckled, slapping the back of Balan's head.

"You are the one who hit him so hard after Tristan did!" Pelleas reminded Bors.

"Tha's right!" Bors replied firmly. "He needed it! He shouldn've sulked over a well-deserved beatin'! His head was getting too big for him already!"

He looked over his shoulder at Pelleas. "Do ye need some whacking yerself, boy? Seeing as ye think ye can be so arrogant towards me?"

Pelleas hurried to decline the offer and he instantly disappeared with Galahad.

* * *

Balan listened while the other knights talked, until he realized that Tristan was standing behind him.

"I warned you …" the scout's deep voice whispered in his ear.

When Balan turned around, Tristan's eyes were twinkling mirthfully. There was an amused smile playing around the scout's lips.

Balan's cheeks turned red, but then he shyly flashed a grin. He was quite aware that tonight's harder beatings were the result of his own stupidity. It could all have gone quite differently, had he not allowed his pride to get in the way like he did.

"I'm sorry," he whispered ruefully.

Tristan put a comforting hand on Balan's shoulder and walked away.

Agloval sat down beside him.

"Quite a man there, Balan!" he said approvingly and punched Balan's shoulder hard. "Good to know you are someone we can count on in battle!"

Balan said nothing, but he felt himself growing at least two inches. He smiled back at Agloval.

"Now all you'll need to do from this day on is keep your arse out of harm's way," Agloval chuckled.

Balan's face turned beet red again.

The knights called for Balan to get back onto the table.

"We want to drink to you again, lad!" Brumear shouted.

Balan complied with a grin.

"May he grow strong!" Pellinore began, lifting his mug.

The knights roared.

* * *

Tristan downed his last swig of ale and looked across the table.

"Looks like our hero has fallen asleep," Lancelot chuckled softly at his side.

Balan was slumped over the edge of the table, his head on his arms and his hair falling into his face. His mouth hung wide open as he slept.

The other knights were too occupied to notice.

Tristan walked over to the boy and gently shook him. "Come, boy," he said.

Balan barely woke up when Tristan pulled him to his feet. He couldn't keep his eyes open and his head was lolling.

"Did they give him any ale?" Lancelot asked, coming up beside the scout.

Tristan smelled the boy's breath and shook his head.

"It's been a long day," he said, lifting the boy over his shoulder and carrying him back to the knights' quarters.

When they had tucked Balan into bed, Lancelot looked down at the sleeping boy and then up to Tristan.

"Do you remember that this morning Ruccius wasn't willing to let him come along?" Lancelot asked pointedly.

Tristan nodded.

"You are one lucky dog to be alive," Lancelot whispered.

When Tristan had heard the first rustle that had betrayed the arrival of Woads, he had automatically urged the others on to rush back and warn Arthur. It wasn't until the Woads had discovered them that he had become aware of their disadvantage. As they had rounded the last river bend, he had already known that they weren't going to make it.

But then this little figure had plunged into the river with three horses.

Tristan smiled. The boy had disregarded the depth of the river. He had simply trusted the horses to get him across. An arrow from the boy had killed a Woad who had been about to strike Gawain. The boy had risked everything. Seeing Balan rushing towards them with the horses had given him a new rush of hope. He had rarely felt more happy than the moment the boy had tossed his curved sword into his hands.

Lancelot tapped his shoulder and nodded towards the door.

"Let's celebrate," Lancelot winked.

They walked out of the room and returned to the tavern.

* * *

AN: _Many thanks to Dferveiro for encouraging me to rewrite this chapter -- and for the very helpful suggestions!_


	18. Privileges

**18 Privileges**

Balan brought up his sword in defence to block a strike from Tristan. The scout instantly halted his sword when it hit Balan's.

"Good!" he praised.

They stepped away from each other. Tristan slowly circled Balan, his sword swinging leisurely in his hand. Balan followed his every move, making sure to keep his body and sword in the right position at all times, ready for any possible attack from the scout.

"Breathe," Tristan ordered. "Breathe more deeply. It will help you remain focused and alert."

Balan obeyed, his eyes never leaving the scout. He kept on looking out for signals, be it in Tristan's eyes or in his body language.

Suddenly Tristan charged.

Balan ducked as Tristan had taught him and rapidly stepped aside while stabbing his wooden sword against the scout's stomach.

"Faster, boy," Tristan commented. "You don't want your enemy to behead you before you have lodged your sword into their innards."

* * *

Ruccius marched through the fort towards the practice yard, closely followed by Lucius Artorius Castus and two other Roman officers. The people on the streets hurriedly stepped aside to let them pass. Ruccius' unmistakable and overwhelming authority – as well as his infamous outbursts of explosive rage – filled them with a fearful respect.

The Sarmatian knights, however, barely looked up when Ruccius and his companions entered the practice yard. If Ruccius came to see them here, it was only to watch them spar. From experience, they knew that interrupting their sparring to stare at Ruccius would only result in a chorus of loud threats and insults resounding through the fort. They ignored his presence and simply focused on their opponents.

"Tristan!" Arthur's voice called out.

Balan and Tristan lowered their swords and turned to look.

Ruccius beckoned the scout towards him with an arrogant wave of his hand.

Tristan motioned for Balan to wait and walked over to meet the four Romans. He did not bother to hurry, even though he noticed the irritation on his commander's face. He stopped in front of Ruccius and looked straight into the Roman's eyes, waiting for him to speak.

Ruccius was slightly shorter than Tristan, so he had to look up to face the Sarmatian scout. From this position it was hard to maintain his authoritative air. Irritated by this slight disadvantage, Ruccius cleared his throat as ominously as he possible could and glared at the tattooed man in front of him.

Tristan smirked inwardly at the throbbing vein on Ruccius' temple.

"I was given to understand that your boy has shown a talent for archery," Ruccius spoke in a stern voice, determined to maintain his dignity. "I want to see this for myself!"

He waved his hand at Tristan to hurry up.

Tristan calmly walked back to where Balan was standing.

"Get my bow and a few arrows," he said softly. Then he turned around and motionlessly waited for the four Romans to follow him to the corner for target practice.

Balan was already there, holding Tristan's bow out to him. But Tristan shook his head and pointed to one of the targets instead.

"Shoot, boy," he said.

Balan hesitantly looked from Tristan to Arthur, to Ruccius and back to Arthur.

"What are you waiting for, boy!" Ruccius bellowed.

Balan's keen eyes still rested on Arthur's face, questioning.

"You have permission to shoot," Arthur said with a smile, realizing the boy's dilemma.

Balan pulled an arrow from Tristan's quiver. He notched it, aimed and sent it straight into the target's center.

"Do it again!" Ruccius ordered.

Balan's second arrow landed right beside the first one.

Ruccius roughly grabbed Balan by the neck of his tunic and dragged him about fifty feet to the side.

"Again! Same target!" he snarled.

Balan obediently shot another arrow into the target's center.

Ruccius frowned, but then he nodded, apparently satisfied.

The three other Romans and Tristan had walked up to where Ruccius and Balan were standing.

Ruccius stuck out his chest and pompously lifted his chin.

"Right then, Artorius! I see the boy has some skill. I will allow him to practice archery with real arrows," he said with a nod of his head.

Balan couldn't believe his ears. Save on that one day when Tristan had gotten permission from Arthur to let him shoot some of his own arrows, he had not been allowed the use of any real weapons! Well, with the exception of the Woad attack by the river, of course.

"Train him well!" Ruccius growled to Tristan. "I will monitor his progress!"

With these words he turned around and began to walk away.

Arthur cleared his throat.

Ruccius turned around and looked at Arthur sharply. Arthur inclined his head towards Balan. Ruccius frowned, but suddenly he seemed to remember something.

"What's your name, boy?" he barked.

"Balan, sir," Balan answered.

"Balan, I was informed that you blatantly disobeyed the orders of your commanding officer Artorius Castus. Do you deny this?" Ruccius spoke threateningly.

Balan's face grew considerably pale.

"No, sir," he spoke, his voice a little higher than usual.

Tristan noticed a familiar flicker in the young boy's eyes. But other than that, the boy's face betrayed no emotion.

"You will remember to obey your superiors from now on! Understand!?" Ruccius boomed.

"Yes, sir," Balan said timidly.

"I will know if you tresspass! Remember that, for you will regret it!"

Tristan chuckled inwardly when he noticed that the boy's attention was not with Ruccius, even though the boy looked straight up at Ruccius's face. Balan's focus was on taking deep and slow breaths in order to stay calm, so he would not show Ruccius how afraid he was.

Clever move, Tristan thought approvingly. It never served to show your opponents your weaknesses.

"What is your name again?" Ruccius demanded.

"Balan, sir," Balan repeated.

Ruccius importantly cleared his throat.

"Balan of Sarmatia, officer Artorius Castus has informed me that you risked your life to save the lives of three fully trained knights, and managed to bring them back to safety. You shall be rewarded for this action."

After these words Ruccius shrugged and motioned for Arthur to continue.

Arthur stepped forward and placed a hand on Balan's shoulder.

"When you came to Britain, Balan, your weapons were taken away from you. As all Sarmatian recruits, you must wait until your commander deems you fit to have them returned to you. You have harmed our trust in you by your attempted escape and by your disobedience during the Woad attack. However, you have also shown great courage, and loyalty to your brothers. Therefore we have decided to return one of your weapons to you as a reward."

Arthur reached for an object which was handed to him by one of the other Roman officers.

Balan's eyes grew wide.

"My father's bootknife," he whispered.

"Stop, Artorius!" Ruccius barked.

Startled, Balan looked up at the Roman commander, who stepped forward and snatched the bootknife from Arthur's hand.

Ruccius towered over Balan and glared him down.

"Listen very closely, boy!" Ruccius said with an intimidating threat in his voice. "You will have this knife returned to you, on one condition: You will _never_ use this knife against a Roman, nor against anyone considered part of a Roman community, nor against anyone who is considered a friend or ally of Rome or of a Roman community! For if you do, your knife will be taken from you and it will be destroyed in the nearest smithy's fire! Not to mention the flogging and other severe punishments you will receive!"

Balan stared silently into Ruccius' eyes and nodded.

Ruccius glared at the boy for another moment, but then he handed Balan his bootknife.

"Remember my words, boy!" Ruccius said threateningly.

Tristan noticed the bright light in Balan's eyes when he grasped his father's bootknife. Balan bent his head when Ruccius passed him by, but his fingers clutched the worn leather sheath tightly.

"What are you all staring at!" Ruccius bellowed furiously when he noticed that none of the Sarmatian knights were sparring anymore. They had all watched the scene between Balan and Ruccius unfold.

Some knights coughed, others shrugged, but they all hurried to resume their training before Ruccius could start off into another ear-splitting tirade.

Tristan looked down at Balan, who was tying his father's knife to his right boot. He waited for the boy to finish and then pushed his quiver into the boy's hands.

"Practise, boy," he admonished with a grin.


	19. Questions

**19 Questions**

Evening had wrapped the fort in a peaceful darkness. Tristan sat in his chair by the fire place, polishing his sword while Balan undressed to go to bed.

He studied the boy intently. Seven days had passed since the attack by the river and Balan had still not shown a sign that he was in any way impressed by the fact that he had killed a couple of Woads.

Nearly all knights and warriors he knew had reacted strongly to their first kill, regardless of their age. It was a common thing to happen: Some men would puke. Some would cry. And some would go quiet and not speak for days. Others would react with aggression, or with other odd behaviour for a while. But Balan had shown none of it. He had simply continued his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Balan noticed that Tristan was staring at him and looked back into the scout's inquisitive eyes. He wondered what it could be that Tristan wanted to know of him.

Tristan smiled inwardly. The boy was not afraid of his penetrating gaze, like most of the other boys. Instead, Balan returned his gaze and subtly attempted to read the question from Tristan's mind.

Many moments passed in silence, until Balan wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and walked over to the fire, waiting for the scout to speak.

"I noticed how you fought by the river," Tristan began.

Balan looked up.

"You've been in battle before," Tristan stated, certain that it was true.

Balan's eyes briefly strayed to the dancing flames of the fire. "Back in Sarmatia," he nodded. Memories of home began to flood his mind.

"What happened?" Tristan asked, his eyes encouraging the boy to speak.

He waited patiently when Balan allowed a long silence before he answered.

"We quarreled with another tribe over hunting grounds. It led to several battles. My uncle died in one of them."

Sarmatians were known for their horsemanship and battle skills, and were therefore rightfully feared by their enemies. But if the tribes were not holding together to fight a common foreign enemy, they were notoriously fighting among themselves.

Tristan had fought in several of these tribal wars and battles at the side of his own people before he had been taken to fight for Rome. Balan's tribe had lived hundreds of miles away from the hunting grounds that Tristan's tribe had frequented, though. He had never met any of them, only heard stories.

"When did you make your first kill?" Tristan asked.

Balan left another silence, the images of the past coming back to him.

"It was during my first battle. I was nine and my father had allowed me to ride on the outskirts of battle with some of the other boys. I killed two enemies with my bow. And wounded three others."

Tristan nodded thoughtfully. He did not show his approval, but it was a good thing that the boy had already experienced exactly what Tristan was planning on teaching him: To stay on the outskirts of battle, shooting enemies from a distance.

"Did you always stay away from the fray?" Tristan asked.

Balan shook his head.

"During most of the battles I did. But during my last one I didn't. I was already out of arrows so I couldn't shoot anymore, but my father was hurt. I rode to his aid and killed two enemies from close by."

"How did you do that?" Tristan asked, wondering how the boy could have held his own.

"With my throwing-knives and my father's dagger," Balan replied truthfully.

Tristan tilted his head.

"Your father must have been very proud of you," he said with an approving smile.

Balan's expression saddened and he slowly shook his head.

"My uncle died in that battle," he said softly. "My dad was trying to protect him. That's how he got hurt. After the funeral my father never wanted to mention this battle again."

* * *

They sat in silence for a long time. Balan staring into the fire, Tristan polishing his sword.

"Tristan?"

Tristan did not answer, but Balan knew that he was listening.

"How old were you when you came to Britain?"

"Seventeen," Tristan replied, lifting his sword and tilting it slightly to examine his work in the light of the fire.

"Did you make your first kill in Sarmatia or in Britain?"

"In Sarmatia."

"At what age?"

"I was ten."

Tristan continued polishing his sword.

"Was it then that you got your tattoos?" Balan asked excitedly.

Tristan laughed.

"Boy, you need to go to bed. You are asking too many questions at once."

Balan considered his options. But one look at Tristan's face told him that the scout was serious, so he walked over to his bed.

"Was it?" he asked hopefully, meanwhile pulling his blanket back into place.

Tristan kept his focus on his sword and did not answer.

Balan slipped under his covers and glanced at the scout. "Was it?" he tried yet again.

"Sleep now, boy. Be quiet," Tristan's deep voice said calmly.

Balan realized that their conversation was over for the day.

He rested his head on his mattress and drowsily stared into the fire. When Tristan put his sword aside and moved on to polish his daggers, Balan yawned and turned around to face the wall. He snuggled comfortably into his blankets and closed his eyes, allowing images of Sarmatia to fill his mind.

Before he had managed to imagine Tristan as a ten-year-old, living on the wide grasslands of their home by the Black Sea, he had already drifted off into a deep and peaceful sleep.


	20. Spy

**20 Spy**

With a solid crack, the wooden sword in Balan's hand broke. Lancelot lowered his two swords and smirked.

"That's my 12th," Balan sighed.

"You'd better pray that Ruccius will let you fight with better swords," Lancelot teased.

Balan frowned. Perhaps Lancelot could simply have been more careful.

"Your parrying is getting much better, Balan," Lancelot praised. "You will have to work on your speed a little more."

"And hit harder!" Dagonet added.

Balan glanced at them. Ellis would have his rear if he kept on breaking practice swords at this rate. It would not do his sword much good if he would hit harder or move faster.

Tristan was a good teacher and Balan's skills with the sword were improving rapidly. He had perfected several moves for defence and attack, and a few of Tristan's special swings were securely drilled into his body and his brain. He knew, however, that it would soon be pointless to continue practising with a wooden sword. On the day he would be given a real sword, he would have to start learning all these moves from scratch again. The balance and weight of a real sword were completely different from those of a mere piece of wood.

* * *

Tristan had left before dawn to go scouting and Balan had been training with Lancelot and Dagonet all morning. By mid-afternoon they sent him away though, and after putting away his weapons he went to find Galahad and Pelleas.

Galahad was in the armoury with Gawain, whetting an old rusty sword. Beside him, all polished and shining, was a beautiful sword which had once belonged to Galahad's father. But apparently Gawain wouldn't let Galahad touch it yet.

"As long as you are not able to properly whet a blade, you will keep your hands away from this awesome Sarmatian sword," Gawain said sternly after another indignant glare from Galahad.

Gawain sent Balan away, wanting Galahad to focus on his work.

Pelleas turned out to be in the infirmary. Gaheris had whipped him severely and Pelleas was hissing into his forearms while the healer washed out the bleeding cuts on his back. The freckled boy complained loudly about the injustice of his beating. He gave Balan a detailed description of how he was going to get back at Gaheris for this highly undeserved treatment.

When Gaheris himself walked into the infirmary, Pelleas quieted down considerably. Balan noticed the ominous look on Gaheris' face and decided he did not want to witness whatever it was that Pelleas would be facing next.

He left the infirmary and collected his bow and his arrows from the armoury for some target practice.

Dagonet and Lancelot were still sparring. Brumear and Bors were wrestling, Bedivere and Lamorak were throwing spears, and over in a corner he saw Pellinore and Lanolan, the latter showing off his skills with the large battle axe. Balan spat on the ground when he watched Lanolan attack the wooden practice pole.

Balan and Lanolan had taken an instant dislike to each other from the moment they had first met. Lanolan considered himself way above Balan's level and did everything to make that perfectly clear. He could never resist playing foul tricks on the youngest boy. Balan, in turn, grew more and more frustrated with the 19-year-old's arrogance and had made a few blistering remarks which had not only hit home, but had also caused all of the knights to laugh loudly at Lanolan's humiliation. The enmity between the two boys was growing steadily.

With a snort of disgust Balan noticed that Lanolan was actually quite good with the axe. He frowned and walked over to the targets.

While Balan shot arrow after arrow into the bull's eye, Bors stopped wrestling and came over to watch him.

"Are ye sure you 'n Tristan aren't related?" the bald knight asked, when Balan accidentally split one of his own arrows.

Balan shook his head.

"We're from different tribes," he replied stoically, shooting another arrow into the target.

He didn't pay further attention to Bors and when his quiver was empty, Bors had left to spar with Lamorak. Balan retrieved his arrows and emptied his quiver three more times before leaving the deafening roars, pounding and clanking of the practice yard. Longing for a view of the world outside the fort, he climbed the stone steps to the top of the wall.

* * *

The sun – though still high in the sky – was gradually moving towards the South-West. Balan deeply inhaled the view and smell of the forest and fields and sauntered around the length of the wall. He leant against the battlements above the East Gates and leisurely stared into the distance.

A Roman patrol of about fifteen soldiers was marching towards the fort. Their long spears pointed proudly up in the air, their large blue shields were held securely by their sides. These soldiers were done for today, Balan knew. The troop that was to replace them had left the fort a little earlier and would stay away on patrol duty until an hour before midnight. At night there were no patrols other than those on the Wall. But the troop currently returning would leave the fort again just before dawn.

A mighty oak tree guarded the side of the main East road. Balan had never seen a tree as large as this one in Sarmatia. The branches of the tree were a popular gathering place for hundreds of birds and Balan loved the sound of their twittering and singing. He could spend hours sitting on the wall, listening to nature's morning and evening concerts while dusk turned into darkness, or while dawn turned into day. Galahad joined him sometimes, but the older boy could never hold on as long as Balan could.

Pelleas passionately hated spending time on the wall, for Ruccius had deemed him old enough to keep watch, even at night. Galahad and Balan had chaffed him about it, until Gawain had casually mentioned that Galahad was not far away from being pulled into watch duty himself. But Balan had no need to worry about keeping watch yet. He was too young and he "still needed to grow," as the Romans put it. He was exempted from nightly watch duties, as well as from food and sleep deprivation training. The other boys envied him greatly for it.

A sudden flash of light from the oak's branches caught Balan's attention. His keen eyes immediately gazed intently at the tree. Whatever it was the sun had reflected on, it could only be something foreign. It had not rained for a week and the only other things he knew that reflected light other than water, were glass or metal.

Soon enough his eyes caught a slight movement in the tree. When he looked more intensely, he noticed to his astonishment that a person was perched on one of the larger branches, about halfway up the tree. The man had been perfectly hidden until his movement had betrayed him. What was the man doing there?

Balan looked to his side to see if the Roman guards on the wall had noticed anything, but they hadn't.

As he kept on watching a frown appeared on his face. He squinted to be sure that he was not mistaken. But when the man moved again and a little sunlight reached the man's skin, Balan was certain. The man was painted in blue.

"Woad!" Balan hissed between his teeth.

How could a Woad have gotten into this tree, so close to the fort, in the middle of the open field with all the guards out? The man must have arrived at some time during the night, Balan realized. He must have been hiding up in the tree all day. If Ruccius ever found out, it would mean some serious trouble for the guards.

But why would a Woad take all this trouble to spend part of the night and a full day in a tree?

He was probably a spy, Balan thought.

He was just about to warn one of the guards on the parapets, when the Woad began to move forward very slowly. The troop of soldiers was about to pass under the tree, so if the man wouldn't be very careful, the soldiers would certainly notice him.

Balan's frown deepened. Why would a spy take this risk?

Suddenly the sunlight flickered from the tree again and this time Balan noticed what was reflecting it. The blue man held a knife between his teeth and was lifting a bow in front of him, clearly preparing to shoot.

Was he going to kill a member of the patrol?

Balan was puzzled by the Woad's odd behaviour. Shooting a member of the patrol at broad daylight within clear view of the fort and the Wall was nothing short of suicide. There was no way the Woad would get out of that tree alive.

He dismissed the idea that the Woad was a spy, for a dead spy would not be able to give much information to his superiors. A spy would not try to get himself killed. But if the Woad had only come to the fort to kill Romans, wouldn't it have been much more effective to attack with a large group of Woads, as they normally did?

As far as Balan could tell from the situation, the Woad was hiding in the tree to kill someone specific. And this meant he had probably come for revenge.

Would one of the soldiers have done something to enrage this Woad man so that he would now sacrifice his life for it?

The Woad was slowly notching his arrow. Balan realized that he would have to do something, but any shout or movement from the Wall would alert the Woad, and make him release his arrow. He would never be able to warn the patrol in time.

Balan gripped his bow tightly and reached for his quiver. He notched one of his own arrows and aimed for the tree. Before he could shoot though, he realized that the Woad was not aiming his arrow for the troop of soldiers.

The soldiers passed underneath the tree and nothing happened. The Woad was still aiming for the direction from whence the soldiers had come.

There, further down the road, a lone rider was approaching the fort.

Tristan!


	21. Rules

**21 Rules**

Tristan hurried onwards and dismounted where the painted man had fallen from the tree. His eyes instantly went to the arrow protruding from the dead man's ribs. A hint of surprise passed over his face when he realized who the arrow belonged to.

He shook his head at the smell of woad that invaded his nostrils. He couldn't understand how the Woads had been able to pick the worst stinking plant in all of Britain as the basis for their bodypaint. The infamous smell was so bad that the fierce rebels had even been named after the bloody plant!

He waited for the patrol to return, knowing that they would want to question him and take the body to the fort.

"Did you shoot him?" the patrol leader asked him hesitantly.

Tristan shook his head.

"Then who… ?" the Roman began, nervously looking around for the observant archer who had killed the Woad.

Tristan nodded to the top of the wall.

"I know who did it. I will report to Ruccius right now," he replied, mounting his horse.

"The commander is going to kill us!" the Roman wailed. "To think this Woad was up there in the tree and nobody noticed him!"

Behind him the soldiers exchanged glances in obvious discomfort.

"Better be glad the Woad did not kill you," Tristan said calmly.

But the Roman clearly was not convinced that facing Ruccius was the easier option.

* * *

Tristan rode on to the fort. News of the Woad was spreading rapidly through the streets when he passed through the East Gates - without a doubt because some sentry who had seen it happen had loudly passed the message on to his superiors.

"Fools!" Tristan thought disdainfully. The more fuss they made about it, the more they would stir up Ruccius' wrath and fury.

People were gathering by the gates to catch a glimpse of what had happened. Even some of the younger Sarmatians were gaping at him as he rode towards the stables.

He passed his horse's reins to Jols and grasped Galahad firmly by the scruff of his neck.

"Do me a favor. Find Balan for me and tell him to go to my room. He must wait for me there."

He pushed the inquisitive youngsters aside and entered the main building to find Ruccius.

* * *

Half an hour later Balan looked up from the leather sheath in his hand when he heard footsteps approaching on the corridor. He watched with mild apprehension as Arthur walked into the room, closely followed by Tristan. Although he had a good idea what Tristan wanted to discuss with him, he was unable to guess further reasons behind the order for him to wait here. Seeing Arthur entering the room with a determined expression on his face didn't seem at all reassuring to him.

Arthur walked over to the chairs by the fireplace and sat down. Tristan motioned for Balan to follow and took the seat opposite Arthur. Balan remained on his feet, nervously glancing from Arthur to Tristan. No-one had spoken a word yet, but the unspoken tension told him that trouble was brewing.

"Balan," Arthur began in a calm but serious tone. "Less than an hour ago a Woad was shot from the tree outside the East gate. He was killed by one of your arrows. Did you shoot him?"

Although he doubted it would be wise to admit to it, Balan nodded.

"Speak louder, boy," Tristan said admonishingly.

"Yes, I did," Balan said in a timid voice.

"Tell me what happened, Balan."

Arthur looked at him expectantly, his kind eyes encouraging Balan to speak his mind.

Balan began his story with his stroll around the parapets. He recounted how he had noticed the Woad in the tree and how he had initially believed that the Woad might be a spy. He then described how he had dismissed this idea when the Woad appeared to be willing to risk his own life in order to kill in plain view of the Wall.

Both Arthur and Tristan listened with interest.

"It was too late to warn the sentries, so I had to shoot him myself. But he wasn't aiming for the patrol, sir. He was aiming for Tristan."

Arthur and Tristan exchanged a quick glance.

"Why do you think the Woad was aiming for Tristan, Balan?" Arthur asked.

Balan hesitated.

"I saw it, sir," he said pointedly, as if that was answer enough.

Tristan bit back a smile.

"And why would a Woad go through all this trouble, only to kill one Sarmatian warrior?" Arthur asked sceptically.

Balan's keen eyes looked straight into Arthur's.

"Bors says that all Woads hold great fear for Tristan, sir. He said that Tristan has already killed so many Woads that it is a wonder there are still any of them around. I suppose if Tristan has killed so many Woads, they must probably hate him as much as they fear him, sir. Perhaps the Woad in the tree wanted revenge."

Balan glanced briefly at Tristan, before adding: "Besides, if Tristan would no longer be around, it would reduce their risk of getting killed when they attack your men."

Arthur smiled inwardly. This was the same explanation he, Ruccius and Tristan had come up with a little earlier. He had meant to test Balan with his questions and he was pleased with the result.

"I do not agree with your story, Balan," Arthur said sternly.

Balan looked up with mild surprise.

"You claim it was too late to warn the sentries. It was not."

Confused by Arthur's assertion, Balan held his tongue and waited for Arthur to continue. But Arthur said nothing. He looked at Balan expectantly.

Careful not to deny his officer's words too openly, Balan answered: "The Woad would have fired if anyone had shouted or tried to intervene, sir. He had already notched the arrow."

Arthur resolutely shook his head.

"How long have you been watching him?" he asked sternly.

Balan felt himself getting very warm inside as he realized what Arthur meant. His eyes widened briefly when he recognized his own mistake. He lowered his head in shame.

"It would not have been too late to warn the sentries if you had followed the rules!" Arthur said firmly. "You should have reported the very moment you noticed the man in the tree, Balan!"

Tristan watched how the boy nervously kept his eyes on the rug.

"You gave the Woad way too much time to prepare for his kill, boy," Tristan chided kindly.

Arthur noticed how Balan's cheeks and ears turned a deep shade of red. Good! So the boy realized he had broken an important rule. He wanted the boy to learn a little bit more from this experience, though.

"Look at me, Balan!" he demanded.

The boy looked up timidly.

"By waiting so long without reporting, you took away our chance to capture this Woad alive. You have destroyed an opportunity to question him for information. Look at me, boy!"

Balan's eyes had returned to the floor. He quickly looked back up.

"If you notice anything out of the ordinary, Balan, I want you to report to your superiors or to the sentries immediately! That is an order."

"Yes sir," Balan whispered barely audibly.

"It is not for eleven-year-old boys to decide what must be done when irregularities happen! Especially when people's lives are at stake! Do you understand?!" Arthur spoke firmly, his voice ringing through the room.

Balan nodded quietly.

* * *

Arthur leant back in his chair.

"Now Balan, let us discuss your punishment."

Balan's eyes instantly shot up, a fire suddenly ablaze in them. Punishment? He had just saved Tristan's life! Why was he to be punished?!

Tristan chuckled inwardly when he saw it happen.

"I believe you deserve a beating for your lack of consideration of the rules and for your disobedience, Balan," Arthur continued sternly.

Balan kept quiet, but Tristan could see the boy's anger rising rapidly. Balan's eyes were getting darker by the second.

"Normally the task to beat you would fall to Tristan, Balan. But since you saved Tristan's life today, I will give you your beating myself."

Balan now positively fumed at this dubious honour that was bestowed upon him.

Tristan briefly grinned, though he also felt some compassion for the boy. He could easily understand that the boy had gotten a little carried away by his discovery and ensuing analysis of the man in the tree. However, he also realized that Balan should have reported a lot sooner than he did. In fact, the boy had not reported at all! Not even after he had shot the Woad.

"Come to me, Balan!"

Balan forced himself to step forward, reluctant to accept his beating. He angrily bent his head and knelt in front of the Roman officer. But to his shock, Arthur's strong hands grabbed his tunic and pulled him face forward across his lap! Tristan noticed how the boy's eyes almost popped out of his head in anger and humiliation.

A few weeks earlier Tristan had told Arthur that Balan passionately hated being taken across anyone's knee. The humiliation of it was a worse punishment for the boy than the pain of lashes from the belt across his back. Tristan knew that Balan was afraid of the lashes and that they did hurt him. But the boy's willingness to endure the pain made it less of a functional punishment. Tristan had to hit much harder than he was willing to if he whipped the boy on his back.

Therefore he preferred taking the boy across his knee. He would still hit the boy hard enough for the beating to have some effect. But most of the effect was achieved by Balan's own fuss and his shame over this kind of punishment.

Arthur had agreed with him.

Balan, however, clearly did not.

"If this is what I get everytime I save someone's life, I will make sure not to do it again!" Balan said furiously, kicking the floor.

"I think Arthur should take your breeches down for that," Tristan reprimanded sternly.

Balan instantly swallowed his words and stayed quiet, but his eyes were still blazing. A little while later he was lying red-faced across Arthur's lap, his buttocks sore.

Arthur helped the boy to his feet.

"Balan, what you did was not wrong," he said kindly. "If ever you see a Woad aiming an arrow for one of your brothers, you have my permission to shoot him."

He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"All I ask of you is to follow the rules. And to report next time if you spot a potential danger."

Balan had to fight off a lot of inner shame and humiliation before he managed to make himself look into Arthur's eyes and nod that he understood.

Arthur approvingly laid his hand on Balan's head.

"I'm glad you agree, Balan. Remember what I told you by the river: We have to work as a team. Don't go fighting the enemy on your own."

Balan stared at his toes, unsure if he would always be willing to follow this order.

Arthur smiled.

"Now run or you'll be late for supper. I wish to speak with Tristan for a moment."

* * *

When Balan had closed the door behind him, Tristan stared pointedly at his future commander.

"The boy should become a scout, Arthur."

Arthur nodded.

"I agree with you. He has a lot of talent, even though he is yet untrained. I will speak with Ruccius tonight. You may begin his training as soon as you think is right for him."

* * *

AN: _Special thanks to Dferveiro, who broke the world record of fast beta-ing with the previous chapter:o)_


	22. Training

**22 Training**

The sun was well on its way up into the morning sky when Tristan spoke with Balan in the practice yard.

"Listen, if I only hold back while we're sparring you could end up losing your caution in battle. So today I'll be fighting you for real. It will be your job to stay out of my way, or to keep me at sword's length."

Balan grasped his wooden sword firmly, his eyes sparkling with eager anticipation.

"Can I try to wound you?"

Tristan smirked. "You may try, but your main task will be to stay alive."

They both took a few steps backwards and faced each other.

Tristan charged.

Balan jumped backwards and brought his sword up in defence. In one fluent motion Tristan knocked the sword out of Balan's hand and pushed the boy down to the ground, his curved sword against the boy's throat.

"You die," Tristan shrugged.

He lifted his sword and Balan got back on his feet.

"The defence was good, boy. But you will have to gain strength before this move will be of use to you against a grown man."

Balan's cheeks turned red.

"Not recognizing your own weaknesses is the worst weakness of them all," Tristan chided kindly.

"You're almost twelve. No-one expects you to be as strong as a fully grown Saxon or Woad. Do not rely on weakness. You must use your strengths if you want to survive."

Balan picked up his sword from the dirt and they stepped back, staring into each other's eyes.

This time Balan kept a little more distance from Tristan.

When the scout charged, Balan ran away as fast as he could, forcing Tristan to run after him. Using the element of surprise, Balan suddenly turned around and swung his sword at the scout's abdomen. Tristan deflected his blow and placed his sword against the boy's throat with precision.

"Better," Tristan nodded. "You still die."

* * *

Dagonet watched as Tristan and Balan sparred.

The scout and the boy got along incredibly well. Tristan seemed to respect the boy's resilience, his keen but humble mind, and his determination to learn and get better at what he did. Balan simply doted on Tristan.

It didn't stop amazing Dagonet to see these two together. Tristan was very firm with the boy. And yet the boy seemed happier than ever to be with the stoic scout. Balan was an obedient child, and Dagonet believed that Tristan felt relieved about that. When Tristan had been told he was to be a trainer, his largest objection had been the ongoing effort often required to keep young boys in line. But Balan was predominantly docile and Tristan had a very easy time with him.

Except…. on those occasions when the boy decided to disobey.

Dagonet chuckled. As kind and friendly as Balan was, the boy could be extremely head-strong if he chose to be. If he was just playing pranks, a flick to his ear or a stern look from Tristan would be enough to make him stop. Every once in a while Tristan would take the boy across his knee and take his belt or a piece of wood to the boy's backside for a longer lasting effect. But as long as Balan knew that he deserved it, he took his beatings like a man and conformed to the rules thereafter.

How different those occasions when the boy did not agree that he deserved his beating. Or worse even: If Balan had purposely chosen to break a rule, believing it was the right thing to do! No beating would be able to change the boy's mind or to make him feel remorse. The knights had soon learned that the best way to make the boy obey, was to convince him. As long as Balan believed that what he did was the right thing, he would not back down.

Luckily for Balan, Tristan could be just as strong-willed and unyielding. It would do no good for a strong spirit like Balan's to develop from boyhood to manhood without a firm hand to keep him in bounds, Dagonet mused.

And yet Tristan knew not to smother the boy's fire. The scout always knew exactly which tone to take with Balan. Even if none of the knights managed to make Balan obey, Tristan could.

Dagonet chuckled. Fortunately for the rest of the knights, the promise to take the boy across their knees often served as a sufficient threat. Being the youngest of the Sarmatians at the fort, Balan was very sensitive to any treatment that hinted at his young age.

* * *

Tristan noticed how Balan's movements slackened as he grew more and more tired. The boy was bleeding from several little cuts, as Tristan had purposely nicked the boy's skin in order to teach him respect for the sword.

Balan half-heartedly attempted an attack. Tristan easily parried Balan's blow, pivoted and firmly hit the flat of his sword across the boy's stomach. Balan's eyes widened. He dropped his sword and sank to the ground breathlessly, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

Tristan squatted down beside the boy, knowing he had seriously hurt him. But he had meant for this strike to hurt.

"Hey," he said kindly.

Balan gagged and crouched down on his knees, one hand on his stomach and the other on the ground to support himself. A long wisp of saliva dripped from the boy's mouth to the ground.

Tristan placed a hand on Balan's shoulder to stabilize him as the boy began to retch a second time, groaning in agony and pain. When the boy rolled to his side, Tristan untucked the boy's shirt to assess the damage.

A red welt ran across Balan's stomach and several bruises were beginning to form.

"In a real battle you would have died now, boy," Tristan spoke calmly.

Balan glanced up at Tristan with a pained look in his eyes.

"I promise I won't do this to you often," Tristan reassured him. "But you'll have to learn to defend yourself better. You should not try to attack if you stand no chance."

He carefully lifted Balan up in his arms and carried the boy to the infirmary. He washed out the boy's cuts and let the healer have a look at the boy's stomach. Then he carried Balan to their room and put him in bed.

Balan protested that it was not even noon yet, but Tristan shook his head.

"Rest a little, boy. After you have slept you may spend the afternoon as you like. Tonight I will take you to the tavern. I will start training you to be a scout."

* * *

AN-1:_ It looks like I will get the key to my new house coming Friday! It means that in all likelihood I will be in the midst of packing, unpacking, cleaning the old and new place, painting, doing necessary paperwork – the whole shebang – as of next weekend._

_I am hoping to upload another chapter before I move! As soon as I manage to get some free time and a working internet connection in the new house, I'll get back to you all with more of Balan's and Tristan's adventures. -Josje_


	23. Learning

**23 Learning **

Balan rested his back against the battlements and closed his eyes against the sun. He had slept well into the afternoon. A few minutes ago he had joined Galahad in keeping Pelleas company during his watch duty on the wall.

"Tristan did what!?" Pelleas snapped angrily.

Balan lifted his tunic. Galahad and Pelleas fumed when they saw the bruises on Balan's stomach.

"One day I will knock some sense into that scout!" Pelleas hissed.

A few steps away from them, Bedivere chuckled. Though he preferred the company of the older knights during his watch, he was amused by the young boys' conversation.

"Tristan did the right thing, boys. Balan shouldn't have put himself in danger," he admonished.

"It was only a training!" Pelleas scoffed. "He was never in danger! He was just tired!"

"Exactly!" Bedivere replied. "What do you think will happen in battle if you attack a well-trained enemy when you are so very tired?"

He looked at Pelleas pointedly.

Pelleas rolled his eyes.

"Balan might be young, but he is not stupid!" Galahad defended his younger friend. "Balan would never be so reckless in real battle! He knew he was only sparring."

Bedivere sighed. He realized he would have to explain. He scanned the fields outside the wall for any suspicious movement. But as usual nothing had stirred. He motioned for Pelleas to keep looking out.

He crouched in front of Galahad and Balan.

"Listen, boys. Why do you think we are training you so hard, day after day? Why do you think we keep nagging at you and keep pushing you, demanding perfection, until you are able to do all your moves without thinking?"

Bedivere gave them a questioning look.

The boys did not reply. They waited for Bedivere to continue.

"Galahad, you haven't been in the fray of battle before. One day you will be, though, and you will notice that there will be no time to think! There will be no room for mistakes. For even the tiniest mistake will instantly cost you your life."

A hint of fear appeared in Galahad's eyes, but the 15-year-old determinedly bit his lip.

Bedivere's face softened a little.

"Everything you learn in the practice yard will come to you automatically once you are on the battlefield. You will find that you perform every move and every defence in exactly the same way as you have learned it here. Your body will remember, and so will your mind.

"Now imagine you are on the battlefield. And with every move you make you have to ask yourself: Is this a move that can be used on the battlefield? Or is it a move that can only be used in the safe surroundings of the practice yard?"

He looked at the boys sternly and shot a pointed glare to Pelleas.

"Even though you would know the answer within a second, it would still be a distraction. In order to think about whether or not you can use a certain move, you have to take your focus off your enemy."

Balan, Galahad and Pelleas listened attentively.

"Remember this boys: You can _never_ afford to take your focus off your enemy! You can never afford to take your focus off your fight!"

The three boys nodded.

"One second of distraction is enough for your enemy to surprise you and get through your defences."

Bedivere stepped forward and grabbed Pelleas by his shoulders, turning the lad around so he was looking at the fields again.

"Therefore, when you simulate a real battle, you never do anything in the practice yard that you would not do out on the battlefield."

The three boys remained silent. His words were sinking into their minds, doing their work.

Satisfied, Bedivere returned to keeping watch. He was quite certain that Gawain, Gaheris and Tristan would find their charges to be much more compliant in the practice yard from this day on.

* * *

Balan quietly pondered on Bedivere's words when the sound of a familiar laugh floated up to his high seat on top of the wall. He quickly said his goodbyes to Galahad, Pelleas and Bedivere, and rushed down the stone steps to greet Vanora.

"Aren't ye training today?" Vanora asked, patting Balan's cheeks.

"Tristan gave me the afternoon off," Balan replied happily.

"Ye got some time to help me then?" Vanora asked. "If you want, I can teach you how to bake honey bread."

Balan's eyes widened. He loved honey bread!

"This morning the hunters brought three pheasants, two swans and a bunch of pigeons from the forest. They need to be prepared for dinner. It's a lotta work, but I can teach ye how it's done," Vanora continued.

Balan nodded eagerly.

Vanora smiled and pushed her baskets into Balan's arms.

"Carry these for me. I still need to get some eggs."

Several hours later Balan's stomach could barely withstand the delicious smell of the soup he was stirring.

Vanora pushed him aside and pulled the cauldron away from the fire.

"If it boils so strongly, it will burn. Just swing the cauldron aside a little, then it'll be less hot."

She put a piece of dark bread and a spoon onto the table and filled a bowl with steaming soup.

"See?" she pointed out. "Now that we've added a few eggs to the brew, the soup is thicker and not so watery. This way it will fill more hungry stomachs!"

She took the ladle from Balan's hand and sat him down at the table.

"Eat, lad! You deserve it."

Balan hungrily tucked in.

"Delicious!" he smiled after several spoonfuls.

Vanora laid the back of her hand against his cheek, and proceeded to put more bowls on the table.

The backdoor opened with a bang, and Vanora's four eldest kids ran into the kitchen, followed by their nurse, who carried baby Gilly on her hip. "Balan!" number Two squealed. The four-year-old little red-head immediately positioned herself on Balan's lap, glaring at her siblings, as if to say: "Mine!"

Her little brother, a sturdy three-year-old, blatantly grasped the bread from Balan's plate. His two-year-old sister tried to take it from him, but he snatched it from her hand and pushed her aside. Ear-splitting screaming ensued. The little siren trampled on the ground and her face turned beet red. With an ominous glare at her brother, she reached up to yank Balan's soup from the table.

"Four!" Vanora yelled at her daughter. She took baby Gilly from the nurse's arms and the elderly woman left in a hurry.

Balan had managed to save his soup just in time, but while he was holding his bowl away from Four, he was unable to prevent One from running away with his spoon. Four was screaming even louder now, kicking his legs. Meanwhile Two grasped his face with both her hands and pulled at his ear, trying hard to make him listen to the story she was telling him.

Vanora pulled a loudly protesting Two from Balan's lap and pushed the baby in his arms.

"Hold 'im, I need to feed the bairns."

She started filling the bowls as Two, Gilly and Four filled the kitchen with their deafening screams. They were soon joined by their brothers, who earned a whack on their fingers for setting fire to Balan's spoon.

"'Ow many times must I tell ye not to play with fire!" Vanora snapped at them.

* * *

Moments later peace had returned to the kitchen. The four numbers were eating and Gilly was happily suckling his mother's breast.

Vanora fondly looked at Balan. The boy was feeding number Four while trying to answer a huge flood of questions from Two.

"Do ye have siblings at home?" Vanora asked him.

Balan shook his head.

"I had a brother. But he didn't live very long. After I was born, my mother could not get with child again."

Vanora tore off a piece of bread and put it in number Three's mouth.

"She said it was probably better this way," Balan recalled. "She said that with so many patients to care for, she had plenty of children already."

"Yer mother is a healer, then!" Vanora exclaimed.

Balan smiled proudly.

"She knows more herbs than anyone else! Even enemy tribes come to ask for her help sometimes. My father says that when I was little, her healing skills led to a peace treaty!"

Vanora smiled knowingly. Sarmatians were fabulous negotiators by nature, they possessed outstanding political skills. One should almost wonder why they rode out to battle as much as they did!

They probably just loved the battlefield, she assumed. And they were way too stubborn and hot-headed for their own good!

"What are ye doing tonight?" she asked Balan. "The nurse could use some help getting the bairns in bed, for I'll be working."

Two pushed Balan's bowl aside and climbed into his lap. She gave him an expectant glare, her eyes commanding Balan to say he'd come.

"Tristan won't allow it," Balan laughed, gladly placing the blame on the scout. "I have to train in the tavern tonight!"

"Ye gonna fight in the tavern?!" Two asked in amazement.

Three dropped his empty bowl to the ground, waking Gilly who had fallen asleep. In the loud mix of screams and yells that ensued, Balan cupped his hands around number Two's ear and said: "No, I have to become a scout!"

The little girl's eyes widened. She turned on his lap and pulled his head down, cupping her hands around Balan's ear to reply.

But then the door burst open and Bors stomped into the kitchen, filling the room with his presence. Four whirlwinds instantly jumped on their father. And Dagonet, who had entered behind Bors, smiled broadly and covered his ears.

* * *

AN: _Many credits go to Dferveiro for her encouragement to make this last scene longer!_

_I would like to say a big thank you to all my readers and reviewers! You guys rock! I have to move house now (I hope! Pray for me that I'll get the key!), but you do not need to worry. I'll be back soon! -Josje_


	24. The tavern

**24 The tavern**

Balan tried to ignore the inquisitive looks from patrons and soldiers as he sat down beside Tristan in the knights' usual corner.

It was unusual for young boys like him to be in the tavern at this hour. The first two hours after supper the younger boys and recruits – Roman and Sarmatian – were still allowed into the tavern. But later in the evening boys under 17 were only allowed in if supervised by an older soldier, trainer or knight.

"Listen," Tristan said in his ear. "I want you to remember everything that you see tonight. I will ask you about it after we leave."

Balan nodded and let his eyes wander through the tavern, determined to do a good job. As he scanned the tables, however, he soon realized that there was so much to be seen, he doubted he would be able to memorize it all.

Noticing the overwhelmed look on Balan's face, Tristan grinned into his mug.

"Breathe and focus," he said encouragingly.

Balan focused on taking a few deeper breaths. His mind cleared and he felt himself calming down.

Once again he scanned the tavern, trying to take in everything that was happening. His eyes rapidly shot from left to right and back again in an attempt to keep up with the incredible bustle. Men laughed, men talked, men argued, men drank, they played the dice, they sang, stood up, sat down, walked around, serving maids zig-zagged in between… Balan gasped. How was he going to remember all of this?!

Balan suppressed a sense of panic in his stomach and determinedly bit his lip. He would at least give it a try.

Tristan observed how the boy's cheeks and neck turned red and how Balan's breathing became shallow and ragged as his eyes shot around the tavern.

"Breathe more deeply, boy," Tristan reminded kindly.

Balan wiped his brow and looked up at the scout.

"It's too much! How can I ever remember it all?!" he asked, a desperate tone in his voice.

Deep inside he was already half-convinced that he had failed. How could Tristan see even the smallest of details in situations as these?! How did he manage to see the significant ones?

"Look around and get familiar with your surroundings first," Tristan said calmly. "Get an idea of the location and of the number of people around you. Then get a rough idea of who they are. Look at their faces and their behaviour. Find something to remember them by."

Balan gave Tristan a questioning look.

But Tristan merely took a swig from his drink and pointed into the tavern.

"Go on!" the scout's dark brown eyes admonished.

Balan bit back a sigh and looked around the tavern once more. He knew what the tavern looked like! Well, at least during breakfast or supper. Or if it was nearly empty, as it was during the day. But late at night the tables were occupied by different people. The knights were still at their usual tables, but the soldiers and patrons were not.

He watched until he had a rough idea of where everybody was seated.

Then he began to look at the faces, starting with his own table. Dagonet was drinking ale and listening to Brumear's and Gaheris' conversation. Bedivere and Lamorak were watching as Gawain and Pellinore held a knife-throwing competition and Agravaine was peeling scabs off an old wound. Tristan was eating an apple.

At the next table, Lancelot held a beautiful young woman on his lap. He was kissing her passionately and let his hands roam freely down the lady's back. Balan frowned. He was certain that Lancelot did not have a wife. Perhaps she was his girl then?

Momentarily distracted, he looked around the tavern to find Agloval, and soon found him sitting on one of the benches near the bar. Agloval was holding hands with Ella, his girl, their heads close together as if they were whispering. Ella seemed to be very happy.

When he looked around the tavern more closely, he realized that quite a number of men were enjoying the company of women. He gasped when he noticed that several of these women wore rather low-necked dresses, revealing more than he had ever seen of a woman before.

"Seems like our young scout knows exactly where to keep his eyes, Tristan!" Lancelot grinned.

"He's not a scout yet," Tristan replied while flicking Balan's ear. "And he never will be if he allows himself to be distracted this easily."

Balan's cheeks turned red.

"Close your mouth, boy," Lancelot teased.

"You're too young to be drooling over women yet," Bedivere admonished with a smile.

All the knights laughed.

"How many people do you see in the tavern tonight?" Tristan asked Balan, wanting the boy to pay attention to his surroundings again.

"Does he know how to count, then?" Brumear asked in surprise.

Balan nodded briefly to indicate that he could and began to look around to estimate the number of heads.

Brumear returned to his ale.

* * *

_(Later, in Tristan's room.)_

"How many men did you see?"

"Forty-three."

"How many women?"

"Thirteen."

Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"A kitchen maid," Balan explained hastily. "She didn't come into the tavern where the other women were, but she came out behind the bar for a moment."

Tristan nodded approvingly.

"How many men with swords?"

Balan gaped at the scout. He did not know. He had not thought to look for swords.

"Daggers?"

Balan slowly shook his head.

"Large axes?"

Balan snorted.

"No man would take a large battle axe into the tavern!" he grinned. "Vanora would kick them out!"

"So you do pay attention?" Tristan teased. He kicked off his boots and sat down on his bed.

"Knowing the weapons available to those around you might save your life, boy. Every man carrying a weapon might become your enemy when he gets drunk."

Balan nodded thoughtfully and placed his belt and breeches on the foot of his bed.

"How many fights occurred in the time you were in the tavern?"

"Three."

"How many men involved?"

"Four in the first, three in the second, twelve in the third."

Tristan pulled off his shirt. The boy was good!

"Who was the highest ranking Roman in the tavern tonight?"

Balan slipped under his bed covers, searching through his memories.

"I don't know," he confessed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Tristan blew out the candle and got into his bed as well.

Balan stared into the darkness. He felt positively exhausted, but his mind was buzzing, still trying to find details in the things he had seen that night.

"You've done well enough for a first time, boy," Tristan spoke from across the room. "Now sleep. You'll have to work hard tomorrow."

* * *

In the following weeks Balan worked hard to remember more of what happened around the tavern. He was steadily getting better, but Tristan's questions became more specific every day and it always turned out he had missed a detail here or there.

Tristan's advice to get familiar with his surroundings first had helped him a great deal. Once he knew which movements and which people to expect in which corners of the tavern, it was easier to notice anything out of the ordinary.

But recently Tristan had begun to include a new kind of observing in his training. And sadly, it was one that Balan was not very fond of.

* * *

"The red-haired soldier?"

Tristan shook his head.

"Next to him."

"The fat one?"

Tristan nodded.

"Keep an eye on him tonight. On him, and the men he has dealings with. Nothing else."

Balan sighed. Of all available things to observe in the tavern, Tristan had to pick a boring, stupid Roman. Even at first sight he felt a strong dislike for the large soldier with his cold, unfriendly eyes.

Balan sulkily kicked the ground. He was getting tired of observing futilities! He'd much rather spend his evenings with the other boys! Tristan did give him part of the afternoon off if he was to train in the tavern at night. But since Pelleas and Galahad had to train throughout the afternoon, it usually meant that he was left on his own.

The positive side was that he got to spend more time with Vanora and her kids. He was getting better at his cooking and he had earned himself plenty of honey biscuits by doing chores in the kitchen!

"Pay attention, Balan," Tristan said in his ear.

Balan reluctantly looked back at his bulky object of observation.

The Roman spent most of his time drinking and playing dice. As he watched the sheep bones roll across the table over and over again, Balan slowly sipped his apple juice and was bored out of his wits. However, he restrained himself from shooting glances at the scout. He knew well that complaining about his situation – even without words – would be very unwise. Tristan never tolerated unfounded complaints; Balan had regretted each and every time he had tried to complain his way out of discomfort. On most occasions Tristan had wordlessly prolonged – or worsened – whatever Balan had complained about, to teach him a lesson.

Unwilling to risk another long night with a boring subject to observe, Balan went through his standard routine again: The Roman carried a gladius and two daggers, he was probably one of the lower ranking soldiers and he carried no other personal items. His face was red, his eyes small and his shoulders and upper arms were larger than Bors's. He had a large scar on his left forearm and a scab from a recent arrow wound above his left eye.

The arrow must have grazed the man's forehead, Balan thought for the seventh time. The man's weakest points were his sides, his armpits, his neck and the back of his knees. If it would come to a fight, this was where he would have to aim his attack.

Apparently the Roman felt that he was being watched, for he looked up and stared directly into Balan's eyes. Balan returned the man's gaze, unwilling to lower his eyes. The Roman frowned, but Balan kept holding his glare. Eventually the man shrugged and went back to his game.

A little while later Balan began to realize that the Roman was playing dice with a very specific group of people. He had two companions who remained at his table during most of the evening. But the other men, most of them clearly eager to play dice with the Roman, had each spent quite some time trying to get the fat soldier's attention, some even to win his favour, before being invited to the Roman's table. It occurred more than once that a soldier joined the Roman's table, and was dismissed not long after with a wave of the Roman's hand.

He looked up at Tristan questioningly, but Tristan only shook his head and said: "Figure it out."

Before another hour had passed, Balan realized that the men weren't playing dice for real. They did play the dice game, but money was only exchanged if the fat soldier won.

He looked up at Tristan again, but the scout's face remained passive.

Vanora brought him another jug filled with apple juice and Balan stubbornly kept staring at the Roman, at a loss how to discover what was going on.

He had sat like this for about half an hour, not noticing anything beyond what he had already seen, when one of the companions – the red-head – looked his way. The Romans put their heads together and then the fat soldier looked at Balan as well. Slowly, the man rose from his table. He ordered a drink from one of the barmaids and casually sauntered to the knights' table.

Tristan motioned to Dagonet. The tall knight stood up and sat down beside Balan. Bors, standing behind the boy, looked up while fingering his blade. Bedivere reached for a jug of ale, also moving a little closer to Balan and Tristan.

The Roman frowned, a little taken aback by his opposition.

"Is he yours?" he asked Tristan bluntly.

Tristan stared into the Roman's eyes.

"Speak, Roman," he said coolly.

"If you want him to live, tell him to keep his eyes to himself," the Roman said slowly. "He's been watching me all night."

He made to walk away.

"Oi! Roman pig!" Bors called after him.

The Roman turned around, a look of fury on his face.

Bors folded his arms and nodded to Dagonet, who pleasantly smiled up at the Roman.

"I believe there is a misunderstanding," Dagonet said kindly. "The boy means you no harm. Nor does anyone else here."

The Roman snorted in utter disbelief.

"You've been playing dice all night. The boy wants to learn it, but Lancelot here won't teach him," Tristan stated, his face unreadable.

Balan held his breath.

"Nor will any of us," Dagonet continued calmly. "He is too young. He would only be wasting his pay. But apparently, with you playing the dice so near our table tonight, he must have taken his chance."

The Roman frowned disdainfully.

"Keep the boy in check and teach him some manners then, or there'll be trouble!"

* * *

"What did you say that for?!" Balan asked Dagonet indignantly as soon as the Roman had stalked away. "I _know_ how to play dice and I would not waste my pay! I am not even allowed to keep it myself!"

Dagonet soothingly placed one of his big hands on Balan's shoulder. But before the giant could speak, Tristan got up and said: "Time to go to bed, boy."

Knowing better than to disobey, Balan stood up and wished the others a good night.

"No more looks at the Roman for you tonight, Balan. Not a single one!" Tristan said in his ear.

Dagonet followed them as Tristan led Balan out of the tavern. As they walked past the fat Roman's table, Balan kept his eyes fixed on Tristan's back. But he did not fail to notice the dangerous sideways glare that Tristan sent in the Roman's direction.

* * *

AN: _I'm back! Thank you all for your patience. (Not that you had a choice in the matter, LOL!) I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. Please review! Josje_


	25. The tavern 2

**25 The tavern 2**

Balan turned around in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. A barely audible conversation between Tristan and Dagonet was drifting over from the other side of the room. He tried to understand what they were saying. But other than a few words here and there, he could not comprehend a thing.

Normally the sound of the soft, deep voices would have lulled him to sleep. But after what happened in the tavern earlier that night, he felt restless.

Why had Tristan and Dagonet reacted the way they had?

He felt a bit of disgust about the way Tristan and Dagonet had lied to the bulky Roman. If the man had meant trouble, couldn't they just have taken it on with him?

He turned onto his stomach and peered at the two knights by the fire.

When both Dagonet and Tristan looked up and returned his gaze, Balan could no longer hold his tongue.

"Will you tell me what was going on?" he asked.

Tristan and Dagonet exchanged a brief glance.

"What did you find out tonight, Balan?" Tristan asked, ignoring his question.

"Nothing!" Balan said, feeling frustrated. "Save that their game of dice seems to cover up some kind of payment, which they all seem very eager about. But I did not see any sign of what was traded."

Balan lowered his head in shame.

"You already found out more than many others," Tristan replied calmly. "Most people in the tavern have no idea what is going on. Grab a blanket, boy."

Tristan motioned for Balan to sit down near the fire with them.

Dagonet moved his chair to make some room.

"The man you watched is trading opium, Balan," Tristan said as soon as Balan was seated. "It is a substance derived from a flower that grows in the Eastern part of the Roman Empire. The surgeons use it a lot to numb the pain of wounded soldiers."

Dagonet cleared his throat. "Sometimes soldiers who have been given this substance for a longer time while recovering from serious injury, want to keep taking it after they have healed," he added. "The medicine makes them feel wonderful and gives them beautiful visions. It helps them forget the miseries of their lives in the fort."

Balan nodded thoughtfully. Dagonet's description reminded him of the milky substance from papaver seed capsules, which his mother had used for her injured patients. They, too, had sometimes come back for more.

"There used to be plenty of opium for all army surgeons and healers in the Roman Empire," Tristan continued. "The soldiers could easily get some substance to fix their needs. But the supply caravans have been suffering from the increasing attacks on the Eastern part of the empire. The opium routes are no longer safe."

"It is a long and dangerous road from Babylon to Britain," Dagonet added. "Most of the opium that reaches Rome is now subject to very strict trading rules. There is barely enough substance to supply the military surgeons throughout the empire. We are lucky that we are still getting some."

Dagonet looked down into the attentive eyes of the boy.

"But not long after you came to Britain, our Roman friend managed to buy a large quantity of opium for a very low price. We do not know how he did it, nor where he got it. But he is now selling small quantities to the soldiers for barely less than a fortune."

"Why is that a secret?" Balan asked. "It's a good trade!"

"Ruccius forbids it," Tristan replied. "He says that he doesn't want his soldiers to use the substance."

"Meaning that the officers confiscate the opium, after which the higher ranking men have their share. And the soldiers get nothing," Dagonet explained.

Balan's eyes widened.

"So none of the lower ranking soldiers wants the officers to find out," Dagonet said pointedly.

"And therefore many of them have good reasons to silence you forever, should they suspect that you know about it," Tristan stated, his eyes boring deeply into Balan's.

Balan swallowed.

"You made me observe this man all night!" he said hoarsely. "What if he suspects me?!"

"He won't," Tristan said calmly. "He's very stupid."

"He believed our story about you wanting to learn to play dice," Dagonet added. "Just make sure that in the following weeks you don't show him that you already can!"

"And keep your eyes away from him," Tristan warned.

"And don't tell the other boys," Dagonet concluded.

* * *

The next morning Tristan took Balan for a walk outside the fort.

"Listen, boy," Tristan said as soon as they were out of everyone's ear-shot. "From now on you will learn to observe without anyone noticing that you do."

Balan nodded vehemently, understanding why. The bulky soldier had not been the first one to respond with irritation when he noticed that Balan was observing him. Nobody liked being watched.

Tristan headed straight for the forest and Balan had to run to keep up with him.

"Wait here," Tristan said when they reached the edge of the woods. He motioned for Balan to sit down behind a few bushes and walked deeper into the undergrowth, carefully scanning the area for any possible spies, enemies or other kinds of danger. Then he returned to Balan.

"Run about 70 yards out onto the field, boy. Then turn around and look at me."

Balan did as he was told. When he turned around and looked towards the forest, he momentarily thought that Tristan had disappeared. But when his eyes searched the treeline more carefully, he eventually saw Tristan standing on the edge of the field, almost invisible in the shadows of the trees and bushes that surrounded him.

Tristan motioned for him to come back.

When Balan joined Tristan on the edge of the forest, Tristan pointed to the fort, which was basking in sunlight. Peasants were working the fields, soldiers were marching on the road, merchants were riding their carts in and out of the gates, and sentries were standing on guard on the Wall, the light of the sun reflecting on their helmets.

"Can you see them well enough?" Tristan asked.

Balan looked up at the scout, comprehension dawning in his eyes.

"Yes! But they can't see us!" he replied, excitement in his voice. He suddenly understood how the shadows of the forest were a very good place to observe the fort unnoticed.

Tristan smiled.

"Well done," he said approvingly.

Tristan walked back towards the fort. Balan hesitated, but then he ran to catch up with the scout.

"Aren't we training in the woods today?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"No," Tristan replied.

* * *

Back in the fort Tristan led Balan into the stables.

"Find a place in the shadows, boy."

Balan looked around.

"Here?" he asked, pointing to a deep shadow behind the door to the tack room.

"Can you observe what happens in the stables from there?" Tristan asked, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Balan wanted to slap himself. His cheeks turned bright red and he lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Find a better place, then," Tristan said encouragingly.

Balan tried a few other places, but found that either he wasn't able to see enough, or that he was in plain view of anyone passing by.

Finally Tristan pointed to the wall beside the largest entrance.

"But there's nothing to hide behind! Everyone will see me there!" Balan protested.

"Not if you sit very still," Tristan replied.

Balan frowned, but sat down with his back against the wall.

Tristan sat down beside him.

Balan tried hard to sit very still, as Tristan had told him.

"Relax, boy. Not so tense. You won't be able to go unnoticed like that. Be like the stones in the wall and the wood of the rafters. If you were a stone in the wall, you would belong here and no-one would notice you."

Balan allowed his breathing to calm down. He leant his back against the wall and let himself relax.

He looked up at Tristan, who calmly sat beside him and apparently did the same.

Voices approached and moments later Gawain and Galahad walked into the stable. They collected their gear and disappeared into the stalls to brush and saddle their horses.

Tristan looked at Balan and put his fingers on his lips.

"They will come out soon," Tristan whispered softly. "Don't move. And don't make eye-contact. Don't watch them too intently. If you do, they will feel it. They'll look around and might discover you."

Gawain's enthusiastic talking to his horse alerted them that the knight was about to lead his horse from its stall.

Balan made sure to relax again and sat very still. Gawain's horse appeared in the center of the stable, closely followed by Galahad's. At first he could only see two pairs of legs behind the horses, so he knew that the two of them couldn't see him. But then Gawain and Galahad mounted up. They began to ride around in the central space of the stable, allowing their horses to warm up before they each tightened their cinch a little.

Balan did exactly as Tristan had told him. He avoided eye contact and he frequently lowered his gaze to break its intensity. And even though Galahad looked in their direction several times, nothing betrayed that the curly-haired boy actually noticed them.

"Why didn't they see us?" Balan asked in amazement after Galahad and Gawain had left the stables.

Tristan pointed to the roof, where small, yellow windows let the sun's light into the stable.

"The light from the windows doesn't reach this wall," Tristan explained. "But it does reach much of the rest of the stable. It blinds them a little. It seems to them as if the place where we sit is completely dark."

Before Balan could say anything, Arthur and Bedivere marched into the stables.

"With all due respect, Arthur, I do not believe it wise to do that," Bedivere stated firmly.

He walked into a stall and from the sound of it, he angrily brushed and saddled his horse. The horse whinnied softly in protest and nervously stamped around.

Arthur seemed to be in the midst of an internal conflict.

"Let's discuss this again upon your return," he said to Bedivere. "We do not have to decide today."

When Bedivere led his horse from its stall, Arthur moved aside to let him pass. It looked as if Arthur wanted to say something, but Bedivere immediately led his horse outside without looking back at his future commander. Arthur seemed a little taken aback. Perhaps even … sad?

Balan watched Arthur intently, but suddenly Arthur turned and looked his way. Balan quickly averted his eyes, but to no avail.

"Tristan! Balan! I hadn't seen you there!" Arthur greeted kindly.

"Arthur," Tristan nodded, standing up.

Balan followed Tristan as he walked over to speak with Arthur.

"Tristan, I would be very grateful if you could give me your opinion on a certain matter," Arthur began. "I have spoken to Bedivere and Lancelot already, but I would like to hear your view on it as well. Do you have a moment?"

Tristan turned to Balan.

"Go get my weapons, your sword, your bow and two full quivers. Take them to the practice yard. You can practise with my bow until I come to you."

Balan's eyes widened. He instantly ran from the stables to go to the armoury. He could practise with Tristan's bow! He hoped that the conversation would last long!

* * *

Tristan and Balan had been sitting in a dark corner of the tavern, away from the other knights, for most of the evening. The trick with the shadows worked almost as well in the tavern as it had in the stables. Of course some people did see them. But none of them had really seemed to take notice so far.

Tristan put a piece of wood in Balan's hand.

"Take your knife out, boy. Whittle."

"I don't know how to whittle," Balan protested.

"Then learn it," Tristan replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Balan began to carve into the wood with his knife.

"Keep looking around, boy," Tristan commented.

Balan kept his focus on the piece of wood for a moment, but then he casually raised his head and glanced around. The soldiers were still seated where they had been earlier, Gawain threw his hands in the air and laughed loudly, Vanora slapped a pawing hand away from her behind and the two new Optios were chatting with one of the barmaids.

"Now carve again," Tristan said in his ear.

Balan obeyed.

"Keep yourself occupied like this, boy. Make it seem as if your focus is with your carving, then no-one will suspect you when you look around."

Tristan leant forward.

"Listen closely, boy. I'm going to get us a drink. You stay here and don't get on anyone's nerves. Make sure no-one sees you observing them. I haven't informed the others that we're here tonight, so they won't be looking out for you. Stay alert, for I can't look back at you either. You'll be on your own."

Balan nodded.

"If you get into bad trouble, call my name as loudly as you can," Tristan said. And he was off.

Balan merely continued carving, occasionally looking around the tavern. He noticed that Tristan had been held up at the knights' tables.

He had just returned to his whittling, when four shadows appeared in front of him.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here!"

Balan's hair stood on end at the sound of the sneering voice.

He slowly raised his head, looking straight into Lanolan's eyes with as much contempt as he could muster.

"Unchaperoned in the tavern and not even seventeen?" Lanolan asked with a nasty grin. "You seem to have become all arrogant since Tristan started taking you here at night. Do you really believe you can do anything you want now?"

His companions, Sidain, Nerwic and Beril, three of the older Sarmatian boys in training, sniggered.

"I think I will report you to Ruccius, Balan," Lanolan continued. "Let's see what he thinks of your blown-up head. And I think I will stay to listen while he whips your back raw and bloody. Perhaps even offer him to take you to the infirmary afterwards. Just so I can have my pleasure."

"Where is Aggs?" Balan asked, unfazed by Lanolan's threats. "Doesn't he always have his head up your behind? I don't see him tonight. Has one of your flunkies left you?"

Lanolan's face turned red and he clenched his fists, ready to strike. Sidain, Beril and Nerwic glared dangerously. But none of them was willing to be provoked by an eleven-year-old. It would only lead to trouble. If they caused a brawl leading to a tavern fight, Ruccius would have them whipped alongside the runt. It was safer to simply report him.

Lanolan just made to grab Balan's arms to drag him out of the tavern, when Tristan appeared out of nowhere with a jug and two mugs. He frowned at the boys.

"No conversations, Balan," he said curtly, shooing the other boys away with a stern glare.

He handed Balan one of the mugs and filled it with apple juice from the jug.

"Put your knife away for a moment, boy. Make it seem as if your focus is with your drink."

Balan returned his attention to his training. He sipped his drink and tried to relax. He belonged here and no-one was going to notice him, he said to himself. He looked up again to see Nerwic making a rude gesture and Lanolan sending him an ominous glare from the other side of the tavern.

He shrugged. It had been like this ever since he arrived. It couldn't be helped.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_This chapter continues below. But before you continue, read the following:_

_**Warning!! The last part of this chapter contains the sexual harassment of a child by a drunken adult. It also contains some adult-child conversation about sexuality afterwards. If you are offended by such content, DO NOT READ ON!!**_

_**You do not need to have read the last part of this chapter in order to understand the rest of the story!**_

_(end of author's note)_

* * *

Several days later Balan was alone in the tavern again, when a woman with a very low-necked dress approached him.

"Hey sweetie," she said, swaying a little as she sat down beside him. "Mind if I join you?"

She smelled strongly of ale. Balan's eyes went to the woman's belt. Like most other tavern wenches, she carried a knife. He would have to be careful.

"Are you alone tonight, handsome?" she asked, her voice all husky.

Balan blushed.

The woman laid her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. He carefully tried to pull himself out of her grip, but she held him tight.

"I am alone tonight," she said wistfully. "Will you keep me company?"

Balan glanced around the tavern to see if Tristan had already returned. Bors was slumped over the edge of the knights' table; he wouldn't be of any help, either.

"I have heard you are becoming a great knight, Sir Balan," the woman whispered slowly. "Your mother would be so proud of you."

She carressed his hair. Balan looked the other way and said nothing.

"Do you miss your mother, Balan? Do you remember how she used to kiss you goodnight?"

She softly planted a kiss on his forehead, briefly licking his skin as she did so.

Balan tried to pull back from her, keeping an eye on her knife, hoping she wouldn't draw it on him.

"Do you remember how your mother cradled you in her arms?" the woman continued.

Before Balan knew what was happening, the woman had pulled him firmly against her chest, cradling his head as if he were a baby.

He tried to squirm out of her grip, but she didn't let go. Her breasts were almost in his face and he began to feel very … uncomfortable. He felt his face turning beet red, but he stared straight at the round, warm, soft-looking, creamy white, barely covered, freckled breasts in front of his nose.

"Aaahh," the woman smiled. "I see you have a taste for what I have in my dress, young man. Tell me," she continued softly. "Would you like to touch them?"

Balan gulped.

"Do you remember how you drank from your mother's breasts when you were just a baby?"

Balan thought of Gilly. Surely Vanora would never talk to him like this?

"I see that you are a real man, Balan. Did you know that it gives grown men great pleasure to suck a woman's breasts?"

Balan squirmed to get away from her, but she pulled his face closer to her heaving bosom.

"No ma'am, please," he pleaded. But she just cooed and told him to be quiet.

"Lick them, Balan. Touch them! Tell me that you like them!"

The more he resisted, the more desperate she became.

Suddenly two strong hands freed him from the woman's grasp and he was pulled to his feet. A loud hit reverberated through the tavern and the woman fell to the ground, clutching her face.

When she got up, Balan saw that she had Tristan's handprint across her face.

"If I see you near him within the next four years, no-one will ever take pleasure from looking at you again after I am finished with you. Do I make myself clear?" Tristan snarled.

The woman fearfully backed away from the scout and hurried to leave the tavern.

"Come, boy," Tristan said curtly. He pushed the boy to the knights' tables, which were nearly empty by now.

As Balan made to sit down beside a very drunken Bors, Tristan roughly grabbed Lancelot's tunic and jerked the knight's face out of a pretty woman's neck.

"What…?!" was all that Lancelot managed to shout, before Tristan's fist landed squarely on his jaw.

"I asked you to watch the boy!" Tristan snarled angrily.

He turned around and motioned for Balan to follow him out of the tavern.

* * *

Balan silently followed a fuming Tristan back to their room.

Tristan threw a log into the fire and sat down in his chair. He rubbed his knuckles as he angrily thought about Lancelot. He had only been away from the tavern for a short while. It couldn't have been too difficult to not let oneself be distracted by a woman in that time. Specifically when watching a young boy!

"Are you going to beat me?" Balan asked nervously.

Tristan looked up, returning to the present moment. "No, boy," he said. "Go to bed."

He stared into the fire.

Dagonet had already gone to his room when he had left the tavern. Bedivere had been dragging a drunken Gawain to his quarters and Agravaine had declined his request to watch the boy. Bors had been too drunk as well, so Lancelot had been the only option.

Tristan knew, of course, that Lancelot had a hard time keeping his eyes from anything female. Especially after a few drinks. But he had thought better of the arrogant knight. He _knew_ better. Lancelot was perfectly capable of controlling himself if need arose. Had the fort been attacked that evening, Lancelot would have sobered up instantly. He would have taken charge until their officers would have taken over, and he would have delivered a spectacular fight.

But the boy's safety had not been enough cause for the knight to sober up. Not even to simply stay alert.

Tristan frowned. He would speak with Lancelot again in the morning.

"Tristan?"

"Yes, Balan?"

He looked up to see two dark, brown, insecure eyes asking for some clarity in this evening's confusion.

"Why did she do that?" Balan asked uncertainly.

"She was drunk and she was lonely, boy. She didn't find anyone whose bed she could warm for the night. She did not mean you any harm."

"Then why did you hit her?"

"Because the attentions that she gave you should not be given to eleven-year-old boys."

"I'll be twelve next month," Balan said pointedly.

"That's still too young," Tristan replied.

Balan was quiet for a moment.

"Can I still come into the tavern now?" he asked, a little worried.

"Yes, boy. I will keep the women away from you."

Satisfied, Balan laid his head down on his mattress and thought about Tristan's words. Suddenly he lifted up his head again.

"But not Vanora!" he said urgently.

Tristan bit back a grin.

"Sleep now, boy. Not Vanora."

Silence returned to the room. When the fire began to die, Tristan stretched his arms and decided to go to bed as well. He took off his boots and his breeches, and pulled off his shirt.

"Tristan?"

Tristan ignored Balan, surprised that the boy was still awake. He blew out the candles and got into bed.

"Tristan?" Balan's voice came hesitantly. "Do you enjoy sucking women's breasts?"

Tristan's dry chuckle exploded into the room before he could suppress it. He took a few moments to contain himself.

"That's none of your business, boy. If you don't sleep I will beat your butt."

His eyes still twinkled with mirth while he listened to Balan turning around in his bed. The room became quiet again.

He smiled into the darkness. The boy would grow up soon enough.


	26. Retrieving dagger

**26 Retrieving dagger**

"You have five days."

Balan looked at Tristan incredulously.

"Vanora will kill me!" he protested.

"Therefore you have to make sure to stay unnoticed," Tristan replied.

Balan wanted to argue, but Tristan's warning eyes silenced him.

"Five days," Tristan repeated. "And I want to see you try! If I think you haven't given it enough effort, you'll be in trouble."

* * *

As soon as Tristan had closed the door behind him, Balan tried to calm his nerves. It was true that he wanted to become a scout, but he abhorred the means of training that Tristan had picked out for him this time:

Tristan had hidden one of his old daggers somewhere in Vanora's storage room in the tavern. It would be his, Balan's job to find and retrieve the dagger within the next five days, without Vanora or any of the kitchen maids noticing!

Having spent plenty of time in the kitchen, Balan knew all too well how Vanora and her kitchen maids felt about boys sneaking into the storage room. Most regretfully, he also knew how such boys were dealt with! The kitchen maids had told him vivid tales about it.

He realized that they might have been trying to scare him away, but he didn't feel very confident that the stories had been entirely made up. After all: There were plenty of boys in the fort who would give anything for an extra treat or a piece of jerky. The women must certainly have found a convincing way to keep them out.

Balan silently muttered swear words at Tristan for setting him this task. The scout had thought it a good – and safe – way to continue his training. But Balan didn't think it was safe at all. Not only did he risk getting a severe beating from the kitchen maids, in addition he risked losing Vanora's trust in him – and with that her friendship!

Balan clenched his fists. He did not want to let Vanora down! He had considered explaining to Vanora what his orders had been and bargaining passage into the storage room. But Tristan had instantly smashed his hopes, making it very clear that neither Vanora nor the kitchen maids were to notice anything.

Balan bit his lip. He hesitantly considered refusing Tristan's orders.

If he did, he might lose _Tristan's_ trust in him. Tristan might no longer believe that he really wanted to be a scout. He didn't want that, either. Besides, it was not as if a refusal would do him much good. Tristan would probably give him a beating, and then order him to fulfill his task anyway.

Realization began to sink in that there was nothing for it: He would have to find a way around Vanora and her maids, and retrieve the ruddy dagger.

He swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Focus!" he told himself. He noticed that he was barely breathing, so he exhaled deeply as he remembered his father's words:

"Don't focus on what can go wrong, for this will paralize you. Focus on how to make it work, for this will give you skill."

* * *

Early in the afternoon Tristan looked up from sharpening his dagger to see Balan entering the nearly deserted tavern. The boy had a determined expression on his face and he was clenching his fists. Tristan watched with amusement how Balan took a deep breath, forced a casual look onto his face and disappeared behind the bar.

Cheerful banter and chattering from the kitchen maids told him that Balan had put his boyish charms to good use. Before long he could tell that the boy had been put to work in the kitchen, the screams and squeals from the kitchen maids, urging the boy to be careful, telling him more than he needed to know.

Tristan chuckled. Vanora had yelled loudly at him when he had revealed his plan. "Ye want to teach the lad to steal from me storage room?! Ye want to turn 'im into a thief?!" Vanora's eyes had blazed with anger. He knew that it was not just her storage room that she cared about. She cared for the lad as much as he did.

He had explained that the boy would not be stealing anything, but that the boy _had_ to learn to be stealthy. Balan had to learn to keep his wits about him on 'dangerous' territory, even if the situation made him nervous. Or would she rather have him hide the dagger in the quarters of a Roman sentry?

Vanora had gasped at the suggestion. She knew Tristan well enough to know that he would not hesitate to follow through on his threat, if she would not consent to let him use her storage room. Eventually she had agreed. He had made her promise not to tell anyone, for Balan was not supposed to know that she knew. The boy _had_ to be afraid of her anger for this training to work. The maids would only giggle if they knew and never let the boy out of their sight – thus ruining every fair opportunity for the boy to succeed. So they were not to know a thing, either.

He returned his focus to his dagger, carefully running his thumb along the edge of the blade to test its sharpness.

* * *

He waited for several hours, curious if the boy was getting any closer to fulfilling his task.

Suddenly a loud cacophony of women's screams erupted from the kitchen. He heard the scraping of a table on the stone floor, followed by the sound of breaking pottery. A door slammed shut, a woman shouted: "Get him!" and a few noisy minutes later Balan came bolting out of the kitchen, running for dear life as several kitchen maids aimed for his head and his back with their wooden spoons, brooms, ladles, large basting-brushes and a birch rod.

Balan sprinted out of the tavern and disappeared into the bustle on the streets.

When Tristan entered their room a few minutes later, Balan furiously glared up at him. The boy had a black eye, and a cluster of thin red welts from the birch rod ran from his left cheek across his ear and down his neck. He had several bruises on his back, his buttocks and his legs, and he was supporting his forearm where one of the maids had hit him with a stick.

"You made me do this!" Balan accused angrily.

Tristan did not reply. He made Balan sit down and examined the boy's arm. When he found it had not been broken, he left the room and returned with Dagonet in tow. With the giant's assistance, Tristan applied a healing salve to Balan's bruises.

Dagonet examined the welts on Balan's face.

"Looks like someone in the kitchen has a very bad aim," he muttered. "Or a very bad sense of judgement on how to use a birch rod."

Tristan left and returned with some cloths and a bucket filled with cold water. He dipped the cloths into the bucket and wrapped a few of them around Balan's arm. Then he bundled up the remaining ones and gently pressed them against the boy's eye.

"Next time you will have to be more careful," Tristan said. He lowered his head to look directly into Balan's non-covered eye.

Balan's anger instantly flared up again. He jumped to his feet and tried to head-butt the scout, but Dagonet restrained him and gently pushed him back onto his chair.

"Boy, do you want to become a man?" Tristan asked.

Balan bit his lip in anger, but nodded his head.

"Look at me, boy," Tristan urged.

Balan reluctantly looked up.

"If you want to become a man, there are many things you still have to learn. You may not always like it. And you may even get hurt sometimes. But I promise I will never make you do anything if I don't believe you can do it," Tristan said.

He took the compress from Balan's eye and dipped it in the water. Balan took it from his outstretched hand and pressed it on his eye again.

"I believe you can become a scout, Balan, but you are not a scout yet. Being a scout is a dangerous job and stealth will be one of your most important allies. If you get caught during a mission, there won't be a few innocent women to give you a beating. There will be a sword at your throat, and you can count yourself lucky if that sword kills you instantly."

Dagonet exchanged a glance with Tristan. He knew what was to come next. He did not like to see the boy's innocence shattered, but the boy was to become a scout. He had to know.

"Balan, if a scout gets caught by his enemies, he is often tortured for information," Dagonet said in a fatherly voice. "Not just his own life will be in danger; the lives of his people, his comrades and commander will be at risk as well. For with evil, cruel and malevolent means of persuasion, a scout can provide his enemy with many useful details on his commander's location and plans. It is not unlikely that your enemy will find ways to give you maximum pain, without allowing you to die."

Balan remained silent for a while. He realized that Dagonet and Tristan were not trying to scare him. He looked into their serious eyes and knew deep inside his heart that they were telling him the truth as it was. This was a real danger. One that he would have to face and learn to live with. He bit his lip.

"If you want to become a man, this is one of the dangers you must learn to stay far away from," Tristan said.

* * *

As soon as she was certain that Balan had left the knights' quarters, Vanora entered the building and angrily burst into Tristan's room.

"I was not around!" she spat, a furious look on her face. "Couldn't you make sure I was in the kitchen first before sending him in?! How is he?"

"Bruised and a welt across his face," Tristan replied curtly.

"What?!" Vanora gasped. "I would never allow for a boy to be hit across his face! Who did that?"

Tristan stared at her pointedly.

Vanora lowered her arms to her sides. "You weren't there. You don't know either," she muttered with a sigh. "Don't worry, I'll find out."

Tristan chuckled when he saw a murderous gleam appear in Vanora's eyes. He wouldn't want to be in the maiden's shoes right now.

"You dare laugh about this?" Vanora raged. "You should have protected him! He's only eleven! He's a boy, Tristan! Not a grown man!"

"Say that to your women," Tristan said sharply. "I told him to retrieve a dagger and remain unnoticed. They were the ones who beat him."

They glared at each other viciously.

Eventually Tristan smirked and Vanora put her hands on her hips, lowering her eyes.

"I hate to see him get hurt," she sighed.

"He'll be okay," Tristan reassured her.

Tristan and Vanora had been getting along well since before she'd started dating Bors. Tristan appreciated her fiery and straight-forward nature and he held great respect for her. She wasn't afraid of him, and he was one of the very few men who wasn't afraid of her. She was the only woman he ever argued with. They were good friends.

"Will you release him from his task now?" Vanora asked. "Just let him off! He's suffered enough."

Tristan determinedly shook his head.

"I gave him five days. He'll have to try again."

Vanora's eyes narrowed in anger.

"And just how do you suggest he'll do that? None of the maids is going to let him back into the kitchen! I can't just let him in either; it'll look suspicious!"

"He'll have to find a way," Tristan said brusquely.

"Right! And what do you think will happen if they catch him again?!" Vanora snarled. "I can't be in the tavern at all times, Tristan! I have five bairns! I have my Bors!"

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"The boy has to look out for him_self_!" he spat. This was the whole idea of this training! Couldn't she see that?

"You seem to forget that we are talking about a little boy! A _child_, Tristan!" Vanora yelled.

Tristan knew that she would try to hit him any moment now. He grabbed her shoulders and silenced her with his glare.

"He has to learn, woman! I don't like seeing him bruised like this, either. But he learned much more today than if he had just been scolded."

Vanora glared up at him.

"He'll be more careful now," Tristan emphasized. "Now, and later, when he is sent into danger. I want him to live. Not die of carelessness."

He let go of her shoulders and walked away from her.

She stared at his back, all anger leaving her.

"Can't it wait?" she asked softly. "Until he's a bit older?"

"How well do you know Ruccius?" Tristan replied bitterly.

Vanora's eyes widened.

"Do you think he will…?" She slapped her hand in front of her mouth and did not finish her question. A look of worry appeared in her eyes.

"You'll have to speak with Arthur, Tristan. Ruccius will be leaving soon. I'm sure that Arthur can say a few words for Balan."

Tristan stared into the fire.

Vanora recognized the expression on his face. Tristan wouldn't speak anymore now.

"I have to return to the tavern," she said softly. "I'll see you around supper."

* * *

Balan carefully approached the bar. The previous day he had given it very much effort to make up for his earlier transgression in the storage room, which was now two days ago. But the maids could not be persuaded: They had not let him back into the kitchen.

This morning, however, he had returned to the tavern as soon as the kitchen maids had cleaned up after breakfast. He knew that most of them would be returning to their rooms now.

Old Anna, a grey-haired kitchen maid, one of the oldest women still working in the fort, had been on morning duty. She had been carrying water from the well towards the kitchen, puffing and muttering to herself about the heavy weight. He had wordlessly picked up two buckets and followed her. He had filled the buckets and placed them just outside the backdoor to the kitchen, so that Anna could carry them inside. She had then given him the empty buckets and he had taken them back to the well.

After all cauldrons had been scrubbed, cleaned and filled with fresh water, Anna had been mollified. She had carressed his head.

"You are a good boy, Balan. Why did you have to be so foolish the other day? You knew what was going to happen!"

"Shall I sweep the tavern for you?" Balan had asked quickly.

And now he was standing in the deserted tavern, a broom in his hand. He had scrubbed the tables and benches and he had almost finished cleaning the floor.

He listened carefully. Before, he had heard Anna rummaging with cutlery, singing her songs. But now it was quiet.

He glanced around and entered the kitchen. The water in the cauldrons was beginning to heat up and several loaves of dough were rising in the warmth of the fire. The backdoor was open. But Anna was nowhere to be seen.

He quickly opened the door to the storage room and slipped inside. His eyes rapidly scanned the dark shelves for the dagger. Last time he had been stupid enough to bring a candle. The light had instantly betrayed him as soon as one of the maids had entered the kitchen. Now he just hoped that some light from the door would reflect on the dagger. Where was it?!

He nervously looked behind pots, jars and flasks. He looked behind barrels, between baskets, behind wheat bags – but no matter where he looked, there was no sign of the dagger.

Suddenly the sound of Anna's voice reached his ears. He rapidly left the storage room and held his breath. Outside, Anna was talking to one of Ruccius' chambermaids. She was heading straight for the backdoor! He quickly grabbed a rag from a bucket and started scrubbing a bowl.

"What did I tell you about coming back into the kitchen?!" old Anna exclaimed. "Get out of here, boy! You are not coming back in!"

She made to grab him by the neck of his tunic.

"This bowl lay underneath one of the tables," Balan lied nervously. "The maids must have forgotten it. I was only cleaning it for you."

"Get out!" Anna urged, making shooing movements with her arms.

Balan nodded to the surprised chambermaid and then hurriedly slipped out the backdoor.

* * *

The next day he sat hidden behind an an old barrel, staring at the backdoor of the kitchen, which was closed. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and tried to think clearly.

Vanora, of all people, was on morning duty today. He had not spoken to her yet since the maids had caught him in the kitchen. He did not dare to imagine what she would think of him. Would she still be willing to teach him how to cook? He assumed that she had not told Bors, though. He would have known if she had!

"Focus!" he told himself and he returned his attention to the task at hand. Provided he would get another chance to sneak into the storage room, where could Tristan have hidden the ruddy dagger? He was certain that he had looked well. Could it be that one of the maids had found and taken it?

Suddenly it hit him: The scout would have thought of this as well! Tristan certainly wouldn't be so stupid to hide his dagger in a place where a silly kitchen maid would be able to find it! What a humiliation it would be if she would loudly announce in the tavern that she had found a Sarmatian weapon – in the storage room! And would the owner of the dagger please come and collect it?

He grinned. No, Tristan was smarter than that. If the dagger was hidden in the storage room, he would have to look for it in a place where no maid could accidentally stumble across it. Which meant that it would not be hidden between the frequently used supplies. His eyes lit up.

The backdoor to the kitchen opened. Vanora's infectuous laugh reached his ears and he quickly ducked further behind the barrel when she walked outside, a basket in her arms.

This was his chance!

As soon as Vanora had disappeared around the corner, he glanced around to make sure nobody saw him and slipped into the kitchen. He walked straight into the storage room and looked up at the smoked, salted meat that hung from the ceiling.

* * *

"Have a nice day ma'am," the merchant greeted when Vanora walked away. She had filled her basket with eggs and then walked over to the merchant's stall to buy some almonds, pepper and cinnamon.

She ignored the whistles from several soldiers – which could only mean that her Bors was not near – and returned to the kitchen. She immediately walked into the storage room to deposit her purchases, and jumped!

"Balan!"

The boy stared back at her with a startled expression on his face. She had known of his task, of course. But she had not expected him to stand right in front of her as she opened the door. She put on her sternest glare.

"Get out!" she spat, as angrily as she could.

Balan cowered under her blazing gaze as he quickly walked past her – clearly wondering why she did not hit him – and slipped outside through the backdoor.

Vanora slammed the door behind him and leant her back against it, smiling to herself. She had not failed to notice the dagger Balan had held in his hands. The lad had succeeded!

* * *

In a narrow alleyway not far from the tavern Balan happily clutched Tristan's old dagger to his chest. He studied it briefly. The dagger was of Sarmatian origin. It was simple, yet of very good quality. The balance of the blade was perfect. Balan quickly put it away in his belt. He ran to the knights' quarters and burst into the room he shared with Tristan.

"I've got it!" he panted, holding up the dagger for Tristan to see.

Tristan turned from the window and instantly recognized the dagger as his own. He smiled and grasped Balan's shoulders.

"I knew you could do it, boy," he said proudly.

Balan held the dagger out for Tristan to take, but Tristan refused.

"It is yours now," he said with a smile.

Balan's eyes widened.

"Really?!"

Tristan nodded.

Balan felt himself begin to glow with pride. His own dagger! Now he had a bow, his father's bootknife _and_ a dagger!

"Does Ruccius allow it?"

"Yes, he does, boy. You have Arthur's permission."

Balan beamed up at the scout.

"Will you teach me how to use it better? It's been a long time since I trained with my dad."

Tristan chuckled.

"Come, then," he said, motioning for Balan to follow him. "Let's go to the practice yard."


	27. Early morning

**27 Early morning**

Several days later Tristan woke up at the first light of dawn to find Balan approaching the side of his bed.

"Tristan?"

"Hmmph?" Tristan's deep voice replied.

"Why does Arthur want me to become a scout if it is so dangerous?"

Tristan glanced at Balan's face and noted the apprehension and seriousness in the boy's eyes. He willed himself to wake up.

"Because I advised him so," he rasped, rubbing his hands across his face. He raised himself on his elbows and motioned for Balan to sit on the bed. Balan gladly lifted his feet off the cold floor, but he kept his eyes fixed on Tristan.

Tristan reached for a jug of water by his bed and quenched his thirst. Balan waited patiently, but the intensity of his gaze did not falter, a burning question clearly written all over his face.

After Tristan put the jug away, he looked intently into Balan's eyes.

"There are many risks and dangers in the life of a warrior, boy. On the battlefield as much as while you are scouting. But in your case there is a difference. A scout can influence his own safety through his choices and through his skill. Observation, stealth, alertness, tracking and reconnaissance are things that I can teach you regardless of your age. You will be able to improve these skills with training, without needing to wait for your body to grow stronger."

Balan pondered on Tristan's words. He had not thought of this before.

"What about the battlefield?" he asked.

Tristan suppressed a yawn and smiled.

"As much as you may wish, you cannot change that you're eleven years old at the moment, boy."

Balan's ears turned red.

"Almost twelve," he said quickly.

Tristan chuckled, but then he became serious.

"You _will _grow a lot taller and stronger in the coming years, lad. For now I can teach you to be swift and to kill with precision. I can teach you to find your enemies' weaknesses and to get through their defences while staying out of reach of their swords. These skills will be of great importance to you in battle. But we cannot change that in direct combat with your enemy, you will be the one with less physical strength for the next few years."

Balan's shoulders sagged in embarrassment, but Tristan caught the boy's gaze before he could lower his eyes.

"I would not have suggested you become a scout, if I did not think you had all the qualities needed to become very good at your job," he emphasized.

Balan stared into Tristan's eyes, taking his time to register what the scout had just said. His eyes lit up and Tristan could see that his words gave the boy a surge of hope, courage and confidence.

But then the light in Balan's eyes faded. A shadow of guilt passed across the boy's face as he determinedly bit his lip.

"I don't think I want to be a scout. I'd rather be a good swordfighter, like my dad and like you!" he stated.

"Then practise hard!" Tristan encouraged. "You can be both. We won't stop your sword training only because you have to learn scouting skills. Scouts run into many swordfights as well."

New enthusiasm appeared in Balan's eyes, but then he frowned.

"I _also_ want to be a good swordsman on the _battlefield!_" he said stubbornly. "I want to fight with a real sword and defeat hundreds of Celts and Saxons with my blade…just as my father did!"

Tristan let out a dry laugh and pushed his blankets aside.

"A grown Saxon would raze you to the ground, boy. Wait until you are a few years older. You will need to be stronger, so your arms can block the blow of a Saxon sword or axe when you parry."

Tristan sat on the edge of his bed and put on his breeches.

"Practice and patience, boy! Then one day you'll defeat a Saxon."

Balan jumped to his feet and climbed on the chair by Tristan's bed.

"I think I will grow to be very strong, like my dad!" he announced confidently, stretching his back and squaring his shoulders in an attempt to convince the scout. "I will be stronger than Gawain!"

Tristan laughed. Balan looked down on Tristan from the chair with the air of a mighty warrior-king. Tristan chuckled inwardly as he put on his tunic and his jerkin. Balan's playful attitude was infectious! He kept a straight face and calmly gave the boy a shove, causing Balan to tumble backwards onto the bed. Before the boy knew what was happening, Tristan had grabbed his shoulders and held him down.

"How strong is your father?" Tristan asked with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

"Stronger than you!" Balan provoked mischievously.

"Show me!" Tristan grinned, flexing his fingers in an obvious threat.

"Like this!" Balan roared.

He yelled his father's battle cry at the top of his voice and fought with all his might and enthusiasm to break free. When even the boy's strongest efforts failed, the scout began to tickle him mercilessly, causing Balan to laugh and squeal so loudly that the rest of the knights in the building woke up. Tristan's dry laugh resounded through the hallway.

When Tristan finally let him loose, Balan jumped onto the scout's back. He got hold of the older knight's neck and tried to wrestle him backwards onto the bed. Tristan grasped the boy's wrists and pulled him over his shoulder with ease. Balan gasped when he found himself in a tight head lock under Tristan's arm.

"If you don't get dressed right now, I will drag you to the stables and plunge you into the nearest water trough," Tristan threatened.

Balan looked up, still panting from his efforts. Tristan's twinkling eyes did not fool him: The scout would certainly keep his word!

BANG!

The door to their room flew open and a rather disgruntled Lancelot stood in the doorway, momentarily puzzled by the scene in front of him.

"What's all this racket?" he asked irritably, stifling a yawn.

Tristan bit back a grin.

"Go back to bed, Lancelot. I'm taking Balan for a ride this morning."

"Can you please do that without the noise?" Lancelot requested with a scowl. He glared at the two scouts and muttered something about complete and utter inaptitude, before he closed the door.

* * *

"Are you really taking me for a ride?" Balan asked Tristan excitedly.

Tristan nodded.

"And you may ride your own horse."

Balan spun around and gaped at the scout, not quite ready to believe he had heard correctly.

Tristan chuckled. The previous evening Arthur had come to inform them that Ruccius had changed his mind. The boy could ride his own horse again, provided that he was accompanied by a fully trained Sarmatian knight. Balan had already been asleep, so Tristan had promised to tell him in the morning.

"The horse won't even recognize me," Balan said, thoughtful for a moment. "It's been so long since I've last seen him."

"Well, we can change that," Tristan offered. "I believe your horse has a water trough."

Without another word he grasped the boy's wrist and headed for the door, hiding his grin. The boy struggled with fervour, yanking and twisting and prying at Tristan's hand to break his grip. Balan braced his feet on the ground and clung to the doorframe with his free hand, trying hard not to laugh when Tristan pulled him loose.

"No!" he giggled in protest.

"Hush, boy!" Tristan grinned.

Further up the hallway a door opened and Gawain stuck his sleepy head outside.

"Gawain!" Balan squealed. "Help m…"

Tristan had quickly covered the boy's mouth and now sent him a stern mock-glare.

"Will you get dressed?" he asked.

Balan nodded fervently.

"Not a sound!" Tristan warned.

Balan instantly twisted from the scout's grip and bolted back into their room. He snatched his tunic from the foot of his bed, grabbed his boots, his belt and his cloak and only a few moments later he hurried after Tristan to the stables.

* * *

AN: _This chapter is dedicated to Ithil-valon. P__ân natha mae, my friend._


	28. Ruccius' decision

**28 Ruccius' decision**

A satisfied smile played around Ruccius' lips as he watched the freckled boy dealing a smashing blow to Gaheris' sword.

What was his name again?

Pelleas.

The boy was a promising warrior, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. He had a stubborn head on his shoulders and a certain disrespect for the rules. But it was nothing a regular whipping could not cure.

Another faint smile crossed the commander's face. The boy was as familiar with Gaheris' belt as he himself had been with his trainer's whip, back in his years as a young recruit. The boy had spirit!

Ruccius' trained, experienced eyes wandered to the second boy, the curly-haired one.

Like Pelleas, this boy seemed promising with a spear. Ruccius knew for a fact that Galahad was a very good archer, and Artorius Castus had informed him that the boy was making progress with the small axe. However…

Ruccius closed his eyes in dismay as he watched the lad practise with his sword. The boy's footwork was disastrous! Instead of getting the center of his weight down as low in his torso as possible – as he should – the boy rather resembled a nervously prancing pony as he tried to attack Gawain.

"Stop!" Ruccius bellowed.

Gawain and the boy looked up as their commander stepped between them.

"No more of this! Let him fight with a shield!" Ruccius bristled. He turned to Galahad.

"You look like a bouncing dog, boy! Stop advancing on your enemy like that! Grab a shield and let them come to you instead! Focus on your stance and your balance as they approach. It is the only way you will have a chance to defeat them! As long as you dance on your tiptoes when you approach them, they'll knock you over the very moment your sword touches theirs!"

Galahad blushed a deep crimson. He knew exactly what Ruccius meant. Gawain had been trying to make him improve his footwork ever since he had arrived here. But he had learned it the wrong way back home. He was unable to get the old ways out of his body and mind.

Gawain pulled him out of his musings. "Go on! Go ask Ellis for two shields!" Gawain urged.

Galahad muttered about his dismal and unworthy position as an errand boy, but with a quick glance at Ruccius he obeyed.

Ruccius had meanwhile shifted his focus to Balan.

Though the youngest boy lacked in size and strength what Galahad lacked in footwork, the boy nimbly moved around Tristan, avoiding the swings of the scout's sword with impressive agility. The mite waved his wooden sword around with skill, and he even managed to deal a few blows to the scout's stomach and neck that would have been deadly had the sword been real and the fight more than just practice.

Ruccius knew that Tristan was giving the boy opportunities to strike him, but the scout was certainly not making it easy on the boy. Just then the boy made a mistake. He ducked from a swing to his head and stepped forward to embed his wooden sword in the scout's armpit. However, the scout did not pivot as Balan had clearly expected. Instead the scout halted his sword mid-swing and placed it against the boy's throat with a threatening glare.

Balan gulped.

"Stay alert, boy!" Tristan admonished. "Read my body language to see what I'll do next. Don't just assume!"

Ruccius smirked and turned around. Here was another young talent in the making. He nodded to Artorius Castus, who was supervising the training, and left the practice yard.

* * *

Tristan collected his weapons. He had just sent Balan off to have lunch and then play. The boy was to train in the tavern that night, and he couldn't expect from an eleven-year-old to be active and alert all day long.

Tristan planned on getting into some serious sparring with Lancelot in the afternoon, but neither the cocky knight nor his twin blades were anywhere to be seen.

He looked up when a young Roman recruit appeared beside him.

"C-c-commander Ruccius wishes to s-s-speak with you, S-s-sir," the soldier said nervously.

"Tell him I'm on my way," Tristan replied gruffly.

He was unwilling to have the nervous colt lingering around him until he was at Ruccius' doorstep, as was their way. He knew that the Romans purposely sent their new recruits to the Sarmatians as messengers. The young Roman boys were as afraid of being around the Sarmatians as they would be of finding themselves surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves -- much to the amusement of their Roman superiors.

Bors delighted in making the young boys wet themselves with fear, pretending to be very much the ferocious brute his vast reputation described him to be. Lancelot often used the recruits to vent his frustration, chiding the boys for every possible misdeed he could find them guilty of, such as breathing too fast, or not speaking clearly enough. Gaheris had once fooled a new recruit into believing he was unable to understand Latin, and had made the boy repeat his message more and more slowly, over and over again, until the boy had been so desperate that Tristan had been sure he was about to cry. Finally an officer had stormed into the practice yard and had ended the offending game. The officer had chided Gaheris in front of the Roman boy – which had caused quite a temper tantrum from the red-haired knight afterwards.

Tristan didn't like having the quivering young soldiers around him. So he simply ignored them or sent them away.

He returned his weapons to the armoury and went to Ruccius office. Arthur opened the door.

"Tristan, enter!" Arthur greeted kindly.

Ruccius was standing behind his desk, his arms spread and his hands resting on the table.

"You've begun your boy's training to be a scout?" the commander asked instantly.

Tristan nodded.

"How does he progress? I was informed that so far you have only been training him inside the fort. When will you take him with you?" Ruccius demanded.

"He needs to learn more skills with his weapons before he can come to the woods with me," Tristan stated calmly.

"Yes, his weapons…" Ruccius said slowly. He scratched his chin and looked from Arthur to Tristan.

"I believe we should give the boy more weapons to train with. I have seen that he is a good archer and he looks promising with the sword. I am planning on giving him his real sword shortly."

Ruccius' gaze lingered at Arthur.

"I believe he has brought a sword from Sarmatia?"

"He has," Arthur answered.

"Right!" Ruccius continued, fixing Tristan with his glare. "Well then, apart from his bow and his sword, which other weapons do you think he can learn to handle?"

Tristan didn't need long to answer.

"Long-knife, dagger, throwing-knives and a small battle-axe," he replied.

He had been contemplating Balan's potential for months. The boy had a deadly aim and his arm was certain. Any weapon that the boy could hurl at his attackers from a distance would come to his advantage. On the other hand, if it should come to close combat, the boy would have to rely on rapid anticipation and speed. Smaller weapons, such as an axe and a long-knife, would help him there.

"Has he tried any of them yet?" Ruccius asked.

"Back in Sarmatia he learnt some skill with his throwing-knives. He knows how to use a dagger. Gawain let him try the small battle-axe once and the boy seems to have a good feeling for it. I can teach him to wield a long-knife," Tristan answered.

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and Ruccius seemed pleased.

"Good! I will order Gawain to begin the boy's training with the small battle axe, then. In return, you shall take over the archery training of Gawain's boy. That lad is talented with the bow. Gawain is a good archer, but his boy is better. He needs an archer with qualities like yours to let him improve," Ruccius decided.

Tristan nodded his assent and made to leave. Before he reached the door, however, the commander cleared his throat.

"You will take your boy and Gawain's boy to the fields outside the fort and let them shoot targets from a moving horse. I want these boys ready for battle!" Ruccius stated firmly.

An icy silence filled the room.

From the corner of his eye, Tristan noticed that Arthur looked shocked. The officer had clearly not been aware of Ruccius' intentions. Tristan himself carefully kept a stoic expression for Balan's sake. But behind this mask he fumed! He had suspected that Ruccius might urge him to take Balan on scouting missions before the boy was ready. But not this.

However, if he would show the commander his aggitation, Ruccius would likely use it to get a rise out of him. He had to avoid that at all costs! He would not risk putting Balan in even more danger.

"I see no use in them hanging around the fort just getting fed!" Ruccius barked when he noticed Arthur's hesitation. "Especially these two! They were conscripted for a shorter time than the other boys, so they'd better fill their ten years of service by being of use to us!"

Ruccius glared at Tristan.

"When I send your boy out on the battle field, tell him to stay on the outskirts of battle and let him shoot enemies. I'll order for three quivers to be attached to his saddle. You will make sure that he has plenty of arrows when he rides in. You may permit him to withdraw as soon as he runs out of arrows, but he must shoot as many enemies as he can. His other weapons will serve as self-protection in case anyone bothers him."

He turned to Arthur.

"Gawain's boy can do the same. Perhaps a confrontation with battle will give the lad some motivation to train harder with his sword!"

Arthur nodded slowly. Tristan could tell that his future commander disagreed with Ruccius as much as he did. He could see that the final word had not yet been spoken about the boys.

But Ruccius was cunning. Arthur was not able to question Ruccius' decision in front of Tristan, a Sarmatian conscript. Doing so would equal openly and publicly questioning Ruccius' authority, which the Romans considered treason. However, even if Arthur would speak with Ruccius behind closed doors after Tristan had left, it would be nearly impossible to make Ruccius go back on his decision. For Ruccius had already announced his decision 'in public,' in front of that same Sarmatian conscript – a lower ranking man.

It was not without reason that Ruccius had not informed Arthur of his decision before he passed the new orders to Tristan.

Tristan focused hard on his breathing to keep the glare from his face.

"Right! Let us speak of getting the boy weapons for his new training," Ruccius said sternly. "He'll need throwing-knives, a pair of long-knives and an axe."

"I believe there was a set of four throwing-knives with the weapons Balan brought from Sarmatia," Arthur remembered.

"Will you need more?" he asked Tristan.

Tristan shook his head.

"Four will do. I have plenty myself. He can use one of Gawain's older axes to practise with. He already has one of my daggers, but he will need his own pair of long-knives. I always take mine with me."

Ruccius broadened his shoulders and raised his chin.

"Very well. I will send word to Ellis to get the boy a pair of long-knives. Artorius, if you would accompany the scout to the armoury to collect the boy's weapons."

* * *

Neither Arthur nor Tristan spoke as they walked down the hallway. As baffled as Arthur had seemed before, he now fumed. Just prior to exiting the building, he moved his hand to stop the scout.

"I wasn't aware of this," Arthur began.

Tristan merely looked into Arthur's eyes. He did not respond. If Arthur wanted someone to console his feelings of guilt and concern, he would have to find someone else. An eleven-year-old boy was about to face hordes of Woads, Celts or Saxons. Tristan would be there for the boy. But not for a grown Roman.

Arthur hesitated when he recognized the distant expression on Tristan's face. He wanted the scout to know that he was on his side. That he did not want the boy in battle. But the scout didn't appear to be open for such conversation.

The future commander of the Sarmatian knights at Hadrian's wall tried hard to keep his composure, but a deep sadness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Tristan watched as Arthur regained control of himself. The officer turned, walked out the door, and ordered his knight to follow him down to the armoury.


End file.
